


Runaway Road-trip. (Aren't we cowardly?)

by CescaLR



Series: The Dimension Travelling Jeep and It's Inhabitants. [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Ambiguous Relationships, BAMF Malia, BAMF Stiles, Blood, F/F, F/M, Gen, I've never actually watched seasons after 3B, M/M, Post Season/Series 5 AU, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, So Bear With me, Swearing, Tags Are Hard, also he's as sassy as I am capable of writing, anyway, are prevalent so know that, general teen wolf and buffy warnings, i think, kinda useless Peter, of buffy, sorry about the tags being so badly done whoops, stiles is something, this is all research and recaps, to start with, we'll see how this goes., which is probably not enough but whatever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Stiles panics.Stiles runs. Malia (and an unconscious/unwilling and unwanted Peter) go with him.Stuff happens.





	1. The Runaways, Running Away.

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this on the fly. Mixture of their mythologies. We'll see how this goes.

Stiles isn't sure where he's going or what he's doing or why his Jeep isn't dying a - let's be honest - long due death. You know, with smoke and stuff. All the goodies that would lead to a car accident and a way out of this, except  _no_ , bad stiles. Malia's already lost family due to a car accident, a car accident stopped dad from getting to mom on time (which he's privately glad of, for reasons gained via the dread doctors book - which, hey; at least it was useful for getting back suppressed childhood trauma!) and Scott can't have your death on his conscience, no matter how not involved he was.  


But still. He drives.

His phone is in the glove compartment, and he knows he put it on silent with no vibrate yet he can hear it, clear as day, malia's ringtone buzzing through his ears.

He pulls up, realises how fast he'd been going, and winces.

He grabs the phone, but it is silent.

He then realises he can see the sign designating the border of the town, and comes to an understanding of what he'd subconsciously nearly done.

Without clothes, or money, or anything, just the cold wet hoodie and jeans he's wearing and a bloodstained wrench in the passenger seat.

Yeah. That could have gone badly.

Stiles sighs, and frowns, contemplating.

He should go back. He knows this.

_You killed Donovan? Scott demands in his memory, looking at him and not the bloodstained wrench he'd handed over moments before._  


_It's not a question, really. Stiles knows this._

Stiles shakes his head. Swallows, licks his lips in nervousness. Taps frantically on the steering wheel. 

Looks in the rear-view mirror. Looks away.

_Do you see the way he looks at me? She - His mo-moth- Claudia hisses, grasping onto his dad's forearms with all her might._

_Claudia, he's ten years old, his dad replies, desperate and exasperated. They've had this conversation more than once, Stiles knows this too._

_He's trying to kill me. She insists, and looks over to Stiles-_

He blinks. The roof is gone, he's in his Jeep, _she's not here._

He almost hates being relieved. He hates almost hating being relieved.

_Fuck, first it's me in Donovan's place and now it's full scenes, I'm goddamn crazy._  


Stiles breaths. In, out. In, then out again.

He looks down at his phone, then to the sign. To his phone again.

_Maybe it would be best if I left._  


He would leave without a note, of course, without saying anything he would just not without a note. Without a change of clothes and some money... some supplies, he has stuff left over. From the deadpool, from mexico, from -

Well. The nogitsune had to get it's stuff somehow, and not all of it was by stealing.

(There was blood money in his account, all of it blood money but right now he can't bring himself to care)

He'd need to transfer it, he thinks. First chance he gets. Get a new name, or something.

He's made plans without even realising it, and he's driving home. 

He enters through his window, even though he knows his dad is at work, and pauses.

_I'd never leave without you. She says, blunt and truthful and the first time he's ever heard a promise like that. 'You still got me' leaves room for the future, Scott's relatively new (over half a decade, but despite brotherhood and the fact he can't loose him) and doesn't have to promise that he wouldn't leave. Lydia ignored him for the better half of most of his life, and the rest -_  


_But Malia. She's known him for a few weeks, really, and yet-_

_Really? He finds himself asking, the surprise obvious in his tone, in the way he looks at her rather than the road for a moment._

_No, I'd never leave without you. Malia tells him again, and he knows he shouldn't but he can tell she's not lying, she's not gonna-_

He pauses. Looks at his phone, sees he's already brought her contact up. 

His hand is shaking, and he watches impassively as he presses the call button.

It rings. And rings.

And picks up.

 _"Stiles?"_ She asks, static on her end. She must be in the preserve, then.   


He doesn't know what to say, but she knows what to do. She hangs up, but he knows she isn't gone. 

He doesn't wait; he packs up. Puts everything he'll need in a suitcase; clothes, toothpaste, his laptop (Which he'll reset later), and all else that fits.

He looks at his crime board and sighs, because there would be no way he'd get to take that with him.

The essentials packed away, he crawls under his bed and grabs the bag he hides there, pulls it out and drops the heavy thing onto the bed. He opens it, and it's full of cash and expensive jewels and jewellery, and he still wonders how the Nogitsune -

Well. He knows, really. He's always known.

If he tried, he could be exactly how  _it_ was.  _They_ were. It wouldn't even be that difficult, aside from the morals and the fact that he's actually a good person, thank you very much, he just has a few problems.

They all do, he thinks. He zips the bag shut just as Malia enters through the window. 

 _Good._ He thinks. He carries on packing, and he knows he looks frantic but right now he doesn't even give a single fuck, thanks, and  _would you pass the mountain ash? Thank you kindly, Mal._

She stares at him, knows it's best just to wait out his frantic energy, knows he's probably either overdosed or forgotten to take his Adderall. 

(Side effects include; restlessness, excitability, nervousness, excitability, dizziness, headache, fear, anxiety, agitation, tremor, weakness, blurred vision, sleep problems (insomnia), dry mouth or unpleasant taste in the mouth, diarrhea, constipation - thankfully he's never gotten those two -stomach pain, nausea, vomiting, fever, hair loss, (or those three) loss of appetite - which he's also never gotten - and weight loss. (Which he had when he was younger. At least now it's not so bad, lacrosse means lean muscle so it's not so obvious anymore) Blood pressure and heart rate may increase - take that, (fucking) werewolves; you gonna use my heart as a lie detector now? - and patients may experience heart palpitations. Adderall is habit forming and chronic use may lead to dependence. Stiles would know; he's memorised the warning labels. And probably has dependence. But whatever. Malia's memorised them too.)

And so, Malia waits. Stiles eventually slows down; his frantic movement is still there, but he's not packing everything he owns away into his cases. 

All her clothes and things she's left here are in a bag as well. She doesn't assume anything, of course, because Stiles would never do what you presume as the first assumption. 

He stares, fingers tapping rather quickly against his leg, eyes darting about and doing that nervous thing where he constantly bites and licks his lips.

It's annoying, but she's learnt tact and learnt patience and he never faults her habits (like always yelling deer rather than meat-lovers pizza when people ask her favourite food - which actually is one of them, go figure. But still.  _Deer.)_

She steps forward and he doesn't step back, and for once it's him who's acting like the cornered animal. The role-reversal is odd, she feels awkward but Malia  _knows_ Stiles, better than she knows the back of her hand (and what's with that phrase, anyway?) and as much as she knows the woods of California, knows the easiest way to catch pray unawares and how to read people.

Because people are animals, really. And she spent nine years as a coyote. She knows what people are like, in their baser instincts. 

And now she also knows about the Japanese Camps of world war two, knows about deadpools and how to calculate a person's worth in money. Knows how to write English essays to get decent marks but can't fathom how to get any better than a D in math. 

She knows him like that. She knows, but can't fathom. It's odd, she thinks, because she knows he knows her better than that. And so she tries.

For him. 

Again, she steps towards him, reaches out this time and touches his arm. He looks at her, eyes of whiskey brown boring into her own like those tools her father uses to make holes in things.

Like he stopped Oliver doing to her head.

He deflates, all of a sudden, and drops to the floor, leans against the side of his bed.

She sits beside him, and waits, hand in his much larger one. 

"I'm leaving." He says, as if she can't tell by the state of his room, but as humans sometimes need to for some reason or another he states the obvious.

"You want me to come with you." Malia replies, answering the question he'd never ask of her. Because he wouldn't want to rip her away from the life she's built, here.

As if he isn't her anchor. As if he wasn't the one who helped her settle in, who helps her learn who taught her everything, everything she'd forgotten.

Or hadn't needed to know, at the age of nine. So had never known.

He doesn't say anything, but she scents his agreement, the signals of approval. The only reason she does this is because sometimes Stiles never says what's on his mind. If he did, she wouldn't have to.

She wonders at why people can't be as simple as animals, and yet are so much easier to read at times. She supposes she'll never know why, and she's alright with that.

Stiles'll probably tell her anyway, on one of those days where he just spouts random facts he found on the internet, which he's of course checked over and over and over and over until he knows they're legitimate. 

It's good. She learns stuff; that's always nice.

Malia squeezes his hand. He squeezes back, and without any words a decision is made. She stands, and takes three bags easily. He makes a noise of protest when she goes for a fourth, so she lets him take the last four.

(She took the heaviest anyway. He knows this.)

They look around the room. The wardrobe was half empty, the dresser ransacked. Keepsakes were gone, and his desk was clear if a little dusty,

The bathroom was similar; all of her's and Stiles' stuff gone into one of the bags, and the downstairs fridge has enough healthy stuff for one person, but all the rest is gone.

So is all the alcohol. She pretends not to notice. 

Everything else is still there, though. He says he copied the album, and copied some stuff onto his laptop while he'd finished packing. After resetting it, of course.

They'll need to leave their phones, he tells her. She knows this, places it down on the kitchen table. He puts his next to hers, and balances a letter on the top.

He places three more, shorter ones, next to the phones and the letter for his dad.

They look at each other, two barely-adults and not even high school graduates and know that this is the last time they'll be in Beacon Hills, at least in this decade.

They'll need new identities, she knows. Stiles already had some, and they look pretty real to her. They'll have to do, for now, the documents. He hasn't made anything other than birth certificates, and new email addresses, after deleting all previous accounts he still had access too.

They couldn't do anything about the school, she thinks. He tells her that's one of the detours, and she thinks again.

_Okay._  


They leave the house, put the bags in the back, and get in. He drives, Malia never having finished her driving licence. 

Right now, that's a blessing. Stiles is going to have to fake his.

Malia stares at the passing houses, and knows they're at least going to have to paint Roscoe, give her a new name. Stiles won't be happy, but it's too recognisable and he knows this.

They pull up at the school. He knows it better, and she knows this too, so she waits as Stiles goes in. 

About fifteen, seventeen minutes later, he's back. Stiles nods to her, and Malia knows their records are gone.

He's gone one step further and wiped all the school's CCTV, and destroyed all the old tapes, CDs. Everything is gone, now, as much as they can get rid. 

Malia knows why he did that, more than anything. It was to check if Donovan's death had been caught on camera, but Stiles says there was not a single shot from that night. If he's worried about what that means, he doesn't show it.

Stiles tells her the next detour is the hospital. this time, she goes in and distracts Melissa, while Stiles finds and deletes all of the footage. It takes a lot longer than anticipated, and when he arrives back in the foyer they make a hasty exit.

 __ _"What took you so long?"_ She hisses, and he mutters.  _"My dad was there,"_ And that's all she needs, really. She pries no further into it, not now at any rate, and he relaxes slightly.   


Well. She needs to ask this, at least. 

 _"Does he know?"_ She murmurs, glances at the hospital. Gets in the passenger side.  


Stiles starts the ignition.  __"Never know with my old man." He says drily. "Maybe. Maybe not. Uncanny sense of intuition, that man."

She sighs. He didn't tell his dad, then. Malia wasn't expecting him to, really. They might not leave if he did. 

He knows this more than anything. It's why he hid from him rather than confronted him, like some sort of coward.

 _Running is cowardly._ His mind supplies. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Malia replies  _it's survival._  


And with the final stop done with, stiles puts the Jeep into gear and floors the gas.

Malia sighs, looking out of the window.

It's overdue time they left the town. People might catch them if they wait any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Wha'd'ya think?  
> Also the promised crossover won't be for a few more chapters, sorry.  
> Setup is necessary, after all.


	2. And Two Becomes (unwillingly and unwantedly) three. And Three? That's a crowd.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles swears in reply, swerving the Jeep dangerously to the side.  
> At least it has a roll cage, Malia thinks as it tips dangerously.  
> And at least we didn't run it over, she thinks again, listening to the sluggish heartbeat of the man in the middle of the road.

They're halfway down the road out of town (which coincidentally has Eichen House precariously placed down a small road to the side of it) when Malia senses the heartbeat.

"Look out-!" She yells, pointing at the figure in the road.

Stiles swears in reply, swerving the Jeep dangerously to the side.

_At least it has a roll cage_ , Malia thinks as it tips dangerously.

_And at least we didn't run it over too much_ , she thinks again, listening to the sluggish heartbeat of the man lying in the middle of the road. 

Stiles curses again as the Jeep tips further to the side, even more precarious, and slams both feet down onto the floor of it, as if that would help.

It does, miraculously, and Roscoe lowers to the ground quickly with a loud  _bang_ that must have been audible for miles.

Stiles sees who he almost ran over. Malia looks, and understands his  _"Ah, fuck."_

Peter Hale, the man - 

Well, bluntly, her sperm donor, half of her biological makeup, whatever you want to call him (but not dad, not father, never either because she's a Tate far before she's a Hale or whatever the Desert Wolf's last name was) -

He was passed out in the middle of the street. How he got out of Echo, she'll never know. Neither will Stiles, even if he's cursing the heavens above for their luck.

_"Fine."_ He grumbles under his breath,  _"Goddamn Creeper Hale and his uselessness just became our problem, did it? Fucking Echo house, can't even hold this guy? Jeez."_

Stiles goes into the back of the Jeep and grabs one of the backpacks, and opens it. Inside, Malia can see wolfsbane (Thankfully she's not a werewolf, or that would have been bad), mountain ash, basically everything anyone who wants to subdue the supernatural in this town would ever need. 

The were-based supernatural, anyway. Mainly werewolves. 

Stiles grabs a small handful of wolfsbane powder, some falling through his fingers onto the seat, and takes a rope she can smell is covered in mountain ash. 

"Glue." he explains. "Lot's of glue, lot's of crushed and burned Rowan wood, bada-bing bada-boom, magical were-creature trapping device."

Malia nods. He grins, but it's not as pleasant as he tries to make it. She knows it's partly because of where they are, what's recently happened, the memories of Eichen and all the things that entails.

She also knows the other reasons. She's known them most of her life.

(She's a were-coyote that has a problem with not saying 'kill it' to each monster of the week. She won't judge.)

He nods, smirks in that amused way where his mouth turns down at the corners rather than up, and stalks off in the direction of Peter. 

She gets out of the car and stretches her legs, then leans against the side of the Jeep.

(She hates cars. Evil fuckers.)

(She hates being cooped up too.)

Malia watches as Stiles kicks the man on the ground to see if he'll wake. She knows it's part vengeance, as well, and simply watches uncaring. 

Stiles shrugs, crouches down and blows the purple powder in the man's face, before tying his wrists and ankles together like some terrible criminal.

Oh wait.  _He is._ She thinks.

Malia goes over and helps him hold the man upright. They push the bags onto the floor of the Jeep, and drop him unceremoniously into the back seat, uncaring of his level of comfort. 

The two of them get back into their respective seats. Stiles shivers, and she remembers it had been raining earlier, realises the condition of his clothes she hadn't noticed (somehow, how?) in the chaos, and sighed. She turned back, and grabbed some things from the bag that contained his clothes. She passed them over, and with a long-suffering sigh he put them on, the soft flannel much better than the heavy, sort-of dry hoodie and wet t-shirt. 

She bundles them up and drops them in the back. She's cold, so she takes a hoodie of his and puts it on.

Considering, she takes a jacket and hands it over, and he puts it on with no complaint.

His hands are colder than hers, she realises. She hopes that doesn't mean anything.

They drive, and Malia doses off without realising it.

* * *

"And we're still in Kansas, what the hell."

Malia wakes up. Stiles is outside the jeep, and daylight shines through the leaves of Beacon Hills' preserve. 

"Oh, wait, no, we're in 'get the fuck out of this clearing, you idiot', because look - the nemeton!" 

Stiles is complaining, sounding sarcastically happy to see the stump.

She looks up, and sees why.

"Crap." 

Stiles looks back to her, eyes weird and smile slightly hysterical. "I know, right? Oh look-!" He points, and she follows his arm, and can't stop from blanching. 

He flinches, of course, minutely, but it's there and so she gets out of the jeep.

Malia takes his hand, lowers it to his side as they stare at the body.

It's Donovan. Donovan Donati. His jaw is broken, hanging open enough to see a few cracked teeth, some human some not. One eye is open, one is closed and there is mercury leaking - or, there was mercury which had leaked, rather, from the eye sockets. Blood stains the lower half of his face and is splattered all over the rest of him, smeared and splattered and some that had spurted out of his wounds. 

There was a great big gaping hole in his chest, just below where his heart is. It's why he didn't die straight away, Stiles knows this now.

He stares. Malia stares as well.

Stiles steels himself and looks away from the gaping hole in the man's torso, and instead sees the hand - and the mouth is there, he knows. Suddenly, Stiles wrenches away from Malia and walks over. 

He picks up the hand and places his thumbs on the palm, next to each other, and  _pulls._

The skin tears easily, the body a few days old already (Though he's not sure if that means anything right now) and the teeth are there, ready to spring out and bite through skin and muscle and fat and bone and everything anyone has.

Malia walks over.

"He was part were-wolf, part lamprey." Stiles informs her, voice calm in a way he is very much not.

"See these," and he lifts the hand, pulls the wound wider. She stares at the teeth, then looks at him, glances at his shoulder.

"Yeah." Is all Stiles can manage, yet she knows what he's agreeing with.

She pulls down the shoulder of his t-shirt, and sees the bite.

It's still red, but not as raw as when he'd first gotten it.

It's still fresh, but it doesn't hurt as much. They're both relieved it's still there, honestly, because if it wasn't they wouldn't know what that would mean. 

Stiles drops Donovan's hand, and Malia knows he wants some space. She gives him it, goes to the jeep and closes the doors in the pretence they both know is one that she can't hear him if she does this.

"Not the best idea to leave your boyfriend next to the man he's quite obviously killed, darling Malia."

She turns her head, having already scented him being awake and so therefore not in anyway shocked.

"Then you don't know him very well." Is all she says, clipped and short and standoffish. 

Peter tuts, slightly. She hears him look outside. 

"Now that seems odd." He comments, and against her better judgement she looks out to see what he means.

The bodies are either gone or invisible, now. Knowing this town, they could simply have phased into another plane of existence.

Stiles staring at the nemeton however, isn't very good at all.

Malia get's out, ignoring her biological father's gaze.

"Stiles?" She calls out, questioning. He either doesn't hear (unlikely), ignored her (even more so) or isn't aware enough to answer. (Most likely.)

She steps forward, warily, at the same time his outstretched hand reaches the Nemeton's surface.

It touches it, and for a second nothing happens.

She doesn't relax, and it pays off, because Stiles' hand is caught in roots that wren't there before. Malia runs forward and grabs the roots, but no matter how hard she tries its no use; they simply won't break.

"Wake up," She demands of Stiles. "Stiles,  _wake up."_

He blinks at her, at the roots.

"Let go, Lia." He mutters. She does, and the roots relax. Stiles takes his hand out, and of course there's blood on it, when is there not?

_From injuries, of course. That's what she means._

Stiles' hand is shaking slightly, but everything else is just far too still. "What was that?" She asks, demands, rather than useless condolences and  _'are you okay's_ because he's obviously not. But what happened is something she needs to know.

"I don't know- well, I do." Stiles starts then backtracks, frowning. 

Malia blinks, and the world is a white endless room. There is a go table on the nemeton, the pieces scattered everywhere. She blinks, and it's gone.

The shadows the trees cast make the place look darker than it is, the shadows cast on Stiles' features make it hard to make them out. 

Stiles is holding a berry she hadn't seen before. There is a small plant on the nemeton, very young but miraculously alive despite it's choice of growing place. 

Little, luminescent fireflies are dancing around it. She remembers reading somewhere that the luminescent type aren't native to California. Lord knows this is the only time she's seen any.

When the sound comes back (when had it left?) Malia hears her breaths, loud as day.

She hears Stiles crunch the berry - the only one on the plant, she realises - between his teeth, and then swallow it. 

The fireflies swarm around him, but he is calm. His eyes are distant and dark, clouded and aren't bright amber like in the sun or burnt whiskey like she normally sees.

They're cold. Brown, but empty, and she knows he's not really there right now.

She wonders how long it's been since he was always, one hundred percent present.

It must have been a while.

Stiles grabs a firefly, crushes it in his palm, and drops it to the ground. The rest stop attacking, wary now, then fly back to their bush.

She blinks, and the bodies are back. So is the white room.

_It's messing with us._ Malia realises. The Nemeton.  _It's messing with our heads._

Malia's heard the stories. She knows with Stiles, that it has an easy in. 

_Why with me, then?_

"That's a good question." A voice replies. It's Stiles, yet somehow she knows it's not  _Stiles._

her instincts flare up in a way they haven't for a while, and she spins around, then growls at it.

Stiles. Not Stiles. Whatever.

It smirks at her, and she's annoyed at how easily it wears his skin; how confident and evil it manages to be in a body that's not used to it under normal circumstances.

Sure. Stiles has bravado, yeah, but listen and you'll know that's all it is.

(But Stiles does scare the other students, sometimes. Malia hears things. He's scared them long before the supernatural was in the picture, she knows.)

"Of course he has." The thing says smoothly, and crap it can read her thoughts. 

"That's all you are, here. All I am, all Stiles is." The being grinned. "Thoughts. That's all you're made up of, in here. I? Have memories, feelings. Stiles is more... substantial, than I, but still."

It shrugs, grinning in such a familiar way. It makes her thoughts-blood boil.

It smirks. "Malia." It greets. "I'm what you'd call a ' _Jungian shadow'."_

He says this as if she's supposed to know what that is. Her eyes flash bright gold (not blue, why not blue?) and she growls. 

"They're not blue,  _Mal,_ because here? Stiles governs certain things, and he's never thought you guilty. And so..." The 'shadow' gestures broadly, indicating her whole self. 

"No pretty blue eyes for you. Such a shame..." 

The creature's grin was sharp-edged, it's angles jagged and facial features shadowed. 

"We always liked the colour blue."

She growls again, because she knows he knows what blue means to weres, to those whose eyes change because an innocent death was caused by them.

She blinks, and knows her eyes are blue again. She looks at him, accusingly.

He just smirks. "I do have some authority, you know."

Tired of this one sided back and forth, she demands, "Where is he?"

"Who, Stiles?" It asks, mockingly questioning. "Hmm... around here somewhere, I would say. I think all you really need to do is  _wake up,_ but still."

It was curious, she noted, that he'd yelled to the surroundings the part about waking up.

It's eyes were the cold brown-black lifeless orbs she'd seen before entering this place, Malia realised.

"Yes, Lia." It nodded, using her nickname in a mocking manner. "He can't really handle that side of things, so if I seem a little cold - well, it's because I am the worst parts of him wrapped tightly in a little bundle and vacuum packed into a box under his bed where he keeps the rest of his monsters."

She frowns.  _The rest?_

"Oh, yes." it almost purrs, as the thing near prowls its way towards her. Unconsciously, she takes a step back. The shadow chuckles, low and deep and unlike any laugh of Stiles' she's ever heard. 

It's eyes flash, a dark black-purple. She knows she pales, as the grin spreads across his face.

" _He_ didn't leave nothing behind, you realise." It informed her. " _She_ left us, yes, but  _He_ left us with a token of  _Their_ appreciation."

She sees the glint of silver in his mouth and then its gone again, and she knows what this is.

"Void." She states, simply. It nods. "Clever girl." The creature - because that's what it is, isn't it? - murmurs. It's eyes flash red. She pauses. 

"A void," it starts to explain, "Is endless." The thing sits on the stump, and waves it's hand. The go pieces are put back into place, and Malia sits in front of it, legs to the side. The thing is cross legged. 

"It has one purpose - To take things into itself, and not let them leave... in short, to absorb. To feed."

It smirks again, for an unknown reason. Malia can't help but be curious. 

It's eyes flash blue. 

"The trickster stories are all about food, my little coyote. You would know."

And then - a flash, the forest beneath her powerful paws, the strength and dexterity in herself and she  _hunts,_ her one, main purpose aside from finding a suitable mate-

She blinks, and is back on the Nemeton, the game of go and the Jungian shadowsitting before her.

"And I - We? Are no different." It pauses, then gestures for her to move a black piece.

"Intruders first." He smiles, teeth human yet shining silver all the same despite their normal appearance. 

"I don't know how to play." She says. He nods. The board turns around, and he moves.

"Learn as we go, then." It flicks it's eyes up at her, startlingly whiskey brown, and makes a move. She stares, then moves a stone. It hums, and moves it's own. The  **Jungian shadow** continues it's story. 

"However, we also have the void to contend with. And that? Is  _insatiable."_

The way he says it, the way he lowers his voice and changes in a way that makes it almost unrecognisable shakes her, even if she would not admit it.

The game goes on. So does his story.

"And so - how does a being with the void feed without the power  _She_ had? Well,  _He_ knew what  _They_ were doing, let me tell you. See - our Stiles, the man is a Spark."

There is a lull. She moves, and looses a piece, and learns a little.

It's lips twist and his face morphs into what she knows is what scares the kids at school who've known the boy all his life - even up to now, now he's a man and has done many things, including saving their lives, they seem to be more wary than ever.

The creature turns the corners of it's mouth down in amusement.

It captures some of her territory.

"A spark," He starts, "Ignites. And so, the void absorbs, and the spark ignites. Do you know what kind of power that is?" He demands of her. Malia knows what he's getting at just as she always knows what Stiles means, and nods. 

A slow smile spreads across it's face. The thing is anything but pleasant. 

"Many would kill for it. Stiles, unknowingly, unwillingly in his conscious mind, has done."

"The No-" 

Before Malia can continue, the other has a hand on her throat and over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air supply.

" _Never,"_ It hisses, really hisses,  _"Say that creatures - that **things** name, understand? It - They - She - He - All are acceptable. _But do not say it's breed, understood? The door is only recently locked; a simple bash and it'll open wide rather than just ajar."

It steps back. She realises she hadn't needed the breath, but had needed it to talk.

The way this place works is confusing, but that doesn't matter right now. She swallows, and nods.

_We can't let that happen,_ goes unspoken.

"Alright." She says, and It calms. The thing - the aspect of her boyfriend walks over to the stump, and she sits across again, leaning on one knee. 

He waves a hand, and it starts again. The go game, she means.

The darker parts of her boyfriend continued talking.

"You were right; it is what left all of this behind. The go table, certain aspects of my personality, the void; that's what it left. The abilities were given - whether knowingly, willingly, or not they were so. 

But so much power is dangerous for the wielder. He is only human, after all."

Malia nods, understanding. Sort of.

"He could use them easily, if he wished." The man continued. "He doesn't know they exist, however, and therefore only come out in times of need - or like this, when the Nemeton forces his denial out of his system with a trance and - you."

It looks up. She's captured one of his pieces. 

He hums. The board fizzles out of existence. 

"Ah." It smiles. It's not a nice one. "Looks like our man is waking. Do greet him for me, will you?"

The white engulfs her vision, and she fades away from her boyfriends... mindscape, is all she can think of calling it.

* * *

Malia blinks, and puts her hand in front of her face. The sun had made it through the canopy enough to blind her well and truly.

Stiles sits up. It is then she realises they'd been lying down in a pile of dead bodies. Grimacing, they help each other up.

Stiles still has blood on his hand, but the cuts are gone. His eyes are their usual burnt whiskey, though almost golden in the direct sunlight.

(Malia may or may not love his eyes, it's debatable.)

Stiles has a few specks of blood on his face. She points this out, but he only succeeds in smearing them further.

They must be a sight to behold, she thinks. She wonders why her friends haven't already found them.

Stiles sighs. For some reason, she wonders why he hadn't answered her, and then the memories flood back.

Ah. She'd played go with his ' _Jungian shadow'_ on the Nemeton in her boyfriend's mind-space while he was god-knows (but probably doesn't) where.

Right. 

Malia sighs too, though her's from exasperation rather than tiredness.

Stiles frowns at the Jeep. "Looks like Zombie Wolf is awake." He murmurs. Shaking his head in annoyance. "That's going to be  _fun."_ He comments, sarcastically. 

Her boyfriend moves towards the jeep and gets in the driver's side. With one final look at the pile of dead bodies (Just how many Chimeras were dead already?) she followed, and entered the passenger side.

Peter was silent, for now, and Stiles thanked the world for small mercies, and started driving.

They needed to leave now, anyway. It was around midday, and they'd set off last night and had gotten as far as the Nemeton... which was further inside Beacon County than the fucking town itself was.

(to be fair, the place was mainly woods and back roads and backwaters. But still.)

Stiles drove in a direction he'd decided to be vaguely north.

Malia stared out of the window.

Peter... observed.

The Jeep would be silent, it seemed, for a while.

 


	3. A Motel In California. Which, surprisingly, doesn't try to kill them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles sighs, and rubs his eyes.  
> Malia frowns at him.  
> "There's a motel just down the road..." She says, then yawns. The laugh her boyfriend barks out is anything but pleasant.  
> "Right." He says. "A Motel. In California. That's not a recipe for disaster."
> 
> There's a story behind that attitude, Malia knows. She also knows that now - they're all to tired to talk about it.

Peter isn't too sure how long the boy - a man, now. Peter's missed all their birthdays locked away in Eichen House as he was for -

Well. He had tried to kill Scott... but his reasons were sound. They'd agree if they  _knew,_ if they  _understood._

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten how  _sickeningly_ loved the young McCall alpha was. And so he'd failed.

Again.

Peter refused to sigh, to show even the slightest hint of what could be perceived as a weakness. Also, he was pretending to be asleep - it would be the only way the other two would talk about anything with him close by. 

That might be his fault. Or their stupidity, he hasn't decided yet.

But that's wrong too, because his daughter (and isn't that an odd thought?) and Stiles - they are not stupid people.

But Peter knows he's never wrong... he has been _in_ the wrong before, but he's never  _wrong._

( _It was just so **rare** for someone to not survive the bite. How was he to know she wouldn't? Everything would have turned out perfectly if she hadn't been so useless at living. Damn her.)_

Peter pauses. He must be - something must be off, since the last time he'd thought about that was when he'd been asked a few months back. And twisted it right around the bend.

Mentally, he sighs. It felt more like years; his time at Echo - _Eichen_ house seems to have warped his sense of time. 

He sees Stiles quirk an eyebrow at him in the rear-view mirror.

Peter thinks back, and this time  _actually_ mentally sighs.

The wolfsbane's still in his system enough to confuse him, it seems. 

Stiles has gone back to driving, and the jeep is still quiet, aside from the three breathing people inside of it, obviously.

Stiles sighs, and rubs his eyes.

Malia frowns at him.

"There's a motel just down the road..." She says, then yawns. The laugh her boyfriend barks out is anything but pleasant.

"Right." He says. "A Motel. In California. That's not a recipe for disaster."

There's a story behind that attitude, Malia knows. She also knows that now - they're all to tired to talk about it.

Peter raises an eyebrow, then lowers it and ponders the motels he knows -

Ah. The Glen Capri; now there's a place you shouldn't go. It makes sense as well; from what he remembers, it's close by. 

Perhaps it was a pit-stop on the way to Mexico, he wonders. But that can't be right, either, because they went straight there.

Stiles takes a glance at Malia. Peter can see her pleading eyes from the back of the car, and is amused by the fact Stiles seems immune. 

Almost. 

Stiles drags a hand down his face, eyes tired. "Fine, alright." He mutters, and switches lanes; changes gear and presses down harder on the accelerator for a moment. 

It's good driving, Peter knows. At least he won't ever have to drive. That's relieving. 

(It would be rather dull; and he wouldn't be able to observe. He wonders if Malia can drive... if Stiles has taught her.)

(She is almost nineteen, after all. He thinks.)

Stiles pulls into the motel's car park, and it couldn't be further from the Glen if Stiles had tried. For one, the place didn't stink of death, and for another Malia wasn't looking any more a danger to herself than usual, so it should be alright here.

Peter decides to speak up. He despises being trapped, just after escaping from that hell hole. 

"I don't suppose you'll be happy to answer the questions about all the blood and the hostage, Stiles?" He says, falsely pleasant. "And dear Malia; you have blood on your cheek."

Malia blinks, and flashes blue eyes. She looks in the passenger's mirror, and curses, before grabbing a tissue from the glove compartment and wiping at the smear furiously. 

Stiles grimaces. "Fuck."

Peter raises an eyebrow. It seems the young ones have upgraded from teenage TV program friendly language to the sort that any young adult would actually use. 

This is an amusing improvement. 

Stiles sinks back into his seat, hiding in a way that shows he's done this before.

Sitting in the jeep and hiding from things, that is. 

Stiles sighs. Abruptly, he turns off the ignition, takes out the keys and gets out of the car.

Malia glances back at Peter. "Stay there." She snaps. 

Peter feels amused. "As if I could leave, my dear."

She glares, then hurries after Stiles. It must be annoying, Peter thinks, to have to guess at what he's doing constantly. 

With a sigh, since no-ones there to hear and his  _darling_ daughter isn't listening in - since she's focusing on Stiles - he sits back, relaxes into the car's seat. 

And waits. Bored.

(The two others are speaking too lowly for him to be able to make out their words. Damn them.)

* * *

 Stiles grumbles to himself.

_Fucking - goddamn **nemeton,** and it's goddamn  **dead bodies,** and fucking  **Creeper Hale** and the whole crap-tonne of problems that asshole brings along-_

Malia grabs onto his arm. He sighs, and stills. Turns around, but avoids eye-contact. 

She hands him the wet t-shirt he'd been wearing a few hours back. It's only damn now. He raises an eyebrow. She scoffs. "Your face, Stiles."

And yeah. Blood. Nervously, that stupid habit of his happens - the one where he licks his lips. 

Stiles grimaces, and spits out the blood, the tangy taste of iron lingering. 

Malia's eyes soften, and she takes the T-shirt, gently wipes away the blood.

It's amusing, Stiles thinks, how he should by all rights be horrified by all the blood and things.

(To think, he once fainted at needles. They're still awful things, but he's seen so much now that this - standing in the middle of a motel car park, while his girlfriend wipes other peoples, dead peoples blood off of his face, his own off of his hand -

He's not even slightly surprised that this isn't shaking him. Not even a little.)

Stiles sighs. Malia's breaths are quiet yet audible in the silence, and she pulls back, having gotten rid of all she can.

Stiles takes her hand. She nods, a half-hearted, tired smile graces her lips.

He squeezes tightly, turns and they walk into the motel.

* * *

There is a man manning the front desk; middle aged with greying brown hair and grey eyes and sallow skin.

Stiles sighs. At least there's no suicide counter, this time.

"Room for two?" He says, bored. "Three." Stiles corrects, and the man looks suspicious but shrugs and hands over the keycard. Malia pushes the money towards him, and he grunts.

The older man picks up a cigarette. Ignites it, then sits back.

Stiles sighs and pockets the card. The two of them go out the door, and over to the jeep.

"Don't try anything." Malia says, warning. Peter scoffs, and waits. Stiles unties the rope binding his legs, but leaves the man's hands bound.

Peter gets out of the car on his own, and raises an eyebrow at them.

"Well?" He states, and Stiles glares then turns and stalks away in the direction of the room.

"He's in a good mood."

Peter sounds amused. Malia growls at him, grabs him by the arm and drags him after Stiles.

 _I do not have the lack of tiredness to deal with his shit right now._ She thinks.

 _Really?_ A voice purrs, sarcastic, in the back of her mind.

_I'd've never guessed._

Malia steadfastly ignores it.

* * *

Dawn breaks and the light seeps in through the curtain-less window - and it seeps because of how grimy the window is; the light is a murky off-yellow, and the room is no better.

The only mostly-probably-clean things are the beds and the sheets.

Obviously, Peter slept in the bathtub. Because that's what he deserves. The asshole.

Malia turns, and groans into her pillow.

She frowns. Stiles isn't in bed.

With a sigh, Malia sits up, wiping the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. With a yawn, she looks around - but still; no Stiles.

She flops back down onto the bed.

"Ah, crap."

Of course, she needn't have worried, as Stiles enters back into the room after a few minutes. He's got a change of clothes for her and himself, and the two of them quickly get ready.

After a quick bite to eat (thank Stiles; if it were up to Malia they'd've packed so light they'd be hunting deer) and retrieving Peter, they got into the jeep.

"Am I going to starve, dear daughter?" He asked, drily, and Stiles rolled his eyes, but did nothing.

"You can eat later." She said. 

"Of course. You wouldn't mind my death at all, would you?" He asked. They wondered if it was genuine curiosity.

Stiles scoffed nonetheless. Malia did not deign to answer him back.

For a few hours, the ride was silent. Malia spent the time dosing on and off, whilst stiles kept his eyes on the road.

Peter kept complaining on and off, and with a growl Malia threw him a squished granola bar that had been in the bottom of the glove compartment.

"... Lovely." Peter commented, "Due date;... a month ago. Dear Malia; are you trying to poison me?" He questioned. She glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, and he was smirking.

"I'm so proud."

Stiles pulled the car to a sudden stop; shifting gear and screeching to a standstill on the side of the road, perfectly parallel parked.

He turned to Peter.

"You know," he started, conversationally, but Malia could see the bags under his eyes and could smell his chemo signals. Stiles wasn't taking any of Peter's shit, not right now, not since they'd been driving for hours, including yesterday.

Well. Stiles had been driving. And thus, he wasn't in the very best of moods.

"We could very easily tie you up again and knock you out, so if you would just shut up for - pretty much  _ever,_ that would be great, thanks."

Peter had that curious expression on his face again. Malia felt like growling; this man never meant anything but trouble.

"Because dear Scott would so approve of that method." Peter said smoothly, sarcastically.

Stiles' mouth curled downwards.

"He isn't here." He replied. Malia sighed, and picked up the jar in the left-hand side cup holder (Which Stiles had had installed.) then handed it to her boyfriend. 

He smiled kindly in thanks, then took a pinch of the purple powder and blew it behind him.

Peter coughed, then passed out.

 _Ah._ Malia thought, relieved.  _Peace and quiet._

* * *

 A few more hours later, and from the map book thing Malia knew they were approaching a small-ish town that surrounded the exit road of California. Which, Damn.

Stiles sighs, and looks out the window, occasionally moving the car forwards.

The traffic is in full force tonight, it seems. Malia growls, and if Stiles were... well, a were of any kind, he probably would have done the same. But he isn't, so he didn't. 

"So." Peter starts, having woken up from the wolfsbane induced nap about half an hour earlier. "What made the two of you leave town so suddenly?" He inquired, needled. 

Malia glared at him through the rear view mirror, but his useless face showed only curiosity, and his heartbeat gave nothing away. 

 _Fucking sociopath._ Malia thought. Everything Morell had talked about ( _and,_ Malia thought angrily,  _tried to make Stiles worried about)_ applied to her  _dear_ old sperm donor quite well, she thought. Though, don't really take her words for it; Malia's not some psychology major, or what have you.

She hasn't even graduated high school. Come on.

"Never you mind." Stiles said drily. Peter raised an eyebrow, blue eyes glinting. Malia was very glad she hadn't inherited them. In the genetics sense.

"You did decide to drag me along for the ride, Stiles." Peter pointed out and - yes, they did. She's not gonna deny that. "And?" Malia demanded, knowing full well Peter was waiting for a dramatic cue to continue.

_The fucker._

He smiled, and of course it wasn't pleasant and most definitely did not reach his eyes. 

"I wonder what the point of that was, is all, dear daughter."

Malia growled. She figured it was an instinctual reaction to this asshole and his commentary. 

Stiles scoffed. "We weren't gonna let you try and kill Scott again, asshole." He told the older man. "Leaving you there would have just been ridiculously stupid." 

Peter pursed his lips slightly, almost un-noticeably. He did not reply.

And so the silence continued. The traffic decided to move, finally. Stiles and Malia shared a glance.

Maybe it would be alright to stop over in Sunnydale. At least, for a month or so. Maybe more; it'd be expected for them to go far, far away, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand next chapter will be them setting themselves up in a place; a kind of safe haven ish thing. You'll see.


	4. Setting Up Shop. Without actually setting up a shop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, Malia and the asshole that's tagging along with them get set up.  
> It takes the entire chapter.

Stiles drives around the town's streets, whilst Malia and Peter (though him, unwillingly) keep an eye out for either a motel they can stay in for a short while, or a building they can squat in.

Really, they're not picky. They just need a place to camp out.

After an hour or so they make it into the more... shall we say, less favourable parts of the town.

"Deceptively small, isn't it?" Stiles muses aloud. "It's like the abandoned parts of Beacon Hills all over again."

Malia grins. "Look," She points.

It's pretty much the perfect building. An old, run-down three-storey police building with some boarded up windows, some with metal shutters. The only access points are on the ground and in the roof - but there's a balcony on the second floor, for some reason. 

Stiles then realises it looks shoddily built; like it was tacked on.

"Someone used to squat here." He pointed out. "What if they still do?"

Malia sniffed, an obvious thing, as Peter rolled his eyes and said "The only organic scents there haven't been renewed for months. The people who lived here are most likely dead."

Stiles frowns. "Why?" He asks, suspicious. "I smell blood." Malia tells him, nose scrunched up in distaste. "But it's old. Rotten."

Stiles grimaced. "It'll do then." He decided. "People seem to stay away from this place. This part of town." 

Peter's reflection in the rear view mirror looked amused. "What?" Malia demanded. "Nothing dear." He said, offhandedly. "The signals of fear are still tangible in the air, is all."

Stiles looked determined. "Then we'll set the place up properly." He told them. Malia nodded. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Obviously."

The two younger adults glared. He smiled disarmingly.

"Shall we proceed, then?" He inquired. Malia sighed, grabbed three bags and dropped out of the Jeep.

Stiles shouldered one, took another and grabbed the two jars - mountain ash and wolfsbane, Peter could smell it.

With reluctance and continued being glared at Peter picked up the last two bags.

"Packed quite heavily, didn't we?" He mused, hefting the duffel bag onto his shoulder and extending the suitcase's handle so that he could drag it along more easily.

"Never know what we might need." Stiles replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. Peter chuckled, and with a huff Malia grabbed him and pushed him in front of them.

"Better you than us. Or can't you handle yourself in an abandoned building?" She challenged. Peter sighed and rolled his eyes, before moving forward.

"Dear Malia - If you wanted me in front so you could make sure I wasn't doing anything untoward, you could have just asked politely." The man commented, before pushing in the front door.

The smell was stronger here. Malia's nose wrinkled further, and Stiles started to be able to smell it.

"Ugh." he muttered, before ploughing on, into the darkness.

Malia's eyes turned blue, and with the red haze of her coyote's improved vision she could see her boyfriend navigate the darkness better than he did the light.

Considering his clumsiness, this was slightly unusual, to say the least. She narrowed her eyes, and followed.

Peter had gone upstairs. If he ran off, he'd have some trouble getting the binds off. She knew he wouldn't, anyway. The chance to mess with them was too good to pass up, for him.

Stiles flicked the light switch, and they were both surprised when they flickered on, a weak hum filling the air and breaking the silence.

The front office looked quite different from the Sheriff's department back home, but Malia could tell that it served the same purpose. She dumped the bags on a table which was hazardously placed in the middle of the room.

Dust was everywhere; it was obvious the place was abandoned. And had been for a few months.

Stiles had dropped down to one knee, and was inspecting the dust on a particular part of the floor.

"It's..." he paused, and turned his phone on, the flashlight allowing better illumination than the shitty mostly broken light bulbs.

He squinted in the brightness.

"A different colour..."

Malia frowned. "... Probably nothing, Stiles." She said, tiredness seeping into her tone of voice. He looked up at her, and his eyes softened.

"We need to set up some defences before we rest, Mal." He informed her. There was a concerned crease between his eyebrows, though, and she knew he'd rather let her sleep. 

She nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah, that's fine. What first?" 

Stiles looked around. "Make sure all holes in the walls are boarded up." He decided. "I'll put a mountain ash circle around the building. Roof, second floor, ground floor. In case one of them is broken. And around each room... except for Peter's." He sighed, adding the last part on as an afterthought. "I'll have to let you guys out though..." He told her, slightly worried. "That's fine." She agreed. "It gives us protection; I'm not gonna complain. And it's not like we'd leave without the other anyway."

He nodded. "Can't help but be wary of what sort of plotting he'd get up to in our absence though." Stiles grumbled. Malia huffed out a short laugh. "He always fails," She said breezily. "We'll be fine."

Stiles nodded, and dropped everything except the jars. "See if you can get some boarding up done." He said, uncapping the jar of mountain ash and taking a pinch, then holding the small amount in his fist tightly. 

"I'll get some circles put down."

* * *

 

Stiles went up to the roof. He'd left Malia boarding up holes on the first floor, and Uncle Creeper was hanging around being all - creeper-y on the second, so he figured it was safe enough. 

Stiles got onto the roof, which wonderfully had a low wall surrounding it he could drop the mountain ash behind so that it wouldn't be obvious. Awesome.

He went to a corner, and relaxed his shoulders, rolled his head and stared forwards.

" _Imagine."_ He muttered, as he had at the tender age of sixteen in the car park of the jungle. 

He took a deep breath, and walked. As he did so, he loosened his grip on the mountain ash slightly, letting the smallest amount trickle from between his fingers.

Concentrating as he was, he didn't notice the presence hiding in the shadows, watching.

Stiles finished, and rather than letting go as he had done the last time he did this, he closed his grip on the ash. He turned his hand over and opened it - and the amount there was the same as he'd started with. 

He breathed. In, out.

_This is fine._

Stiles closed his hand again, grip tight on the ash.

"Well this is new." A voice commented, as a man emerged from the shadows.

Stiles spun around, and thanked the heavens for the fact he didn't flail ridiculously.

"Peter." He greeted. The older man inclined his head. 

"Did Alan show you that trick, perhaps?" Peter questioned. Stiles inclined his head.

_Sort of._

"Belief." Peter continued. "Is what they usually say you need for that - however..." Here, he smirked. 

"Personally, I've always felt  _imagination_ is a much more useful tool. Don't you?"

Stiles said nothing. His fist tightened. 

_Woah there. Peter's not as... weird as Theo. He won't just let you throw him around. Calm the fuck down._

Peter's smirk did not leave. His eyes lingered on the clenched fist. "You might want to keep an eye on that." He commented. The older man looked up. "Anger's a powerful emotion, Stiles. We both know why."

And with that, he travelled back into the shadows and down the stairs like some - creepy-ass stereo-typically dramatic TV villain.

You know, the kind that like to try and make the good guys- 

You know what, Stiles isn't going to finish that thought.

He goes downstairs, and repeats the circle. Repeats on the first floor as well.

He is not interrupted.

* * *

"Are you going to talk about it?" The man who has half of her genetic stuff asked.

Ugh. Would he just leave them the fuck alone?

 _Nope._ She thought, sighing mentally.

Externally, she growled. 

"Now now, dear,  _darling_ daughter of mine - that's not very socially acceptable. People don't generally growl at each other, you know."

_He's messing with you Malia. Snap out of it._

To prove she did not give a shit about his shitty opinions, she growled again.

"I also don't know why on earth you're boarding up the windows. The Mountain ash and wolfsbane traps should be enough."

"That's if you're stupid enough to think wolves are the only things after us." She snapped. Peter smirked. 

_Shit. Fucking asshole._

"That is true." He acquiesced. 

"And  _no,"_ She replied to his earlier question, her tone conveying her beliefs that that was the obvious answer, and did he really have to ask?

 _No._ Malia thought. _He did not._

"I would, if I were you." He continued on, as if she hadn't spoken. "Leaving things to rot as you are is... unpleasant, for everyone involved."

Malia resolutely did not pay attention. She swung the hammer a little too hard, and the nail embedded itself through the wood. She growled and grabbed another, and started hitting that one, though more carefully. 

Peter sighed, and wandered over.

He was doing this to keep his own skin safe, she knew that. Still, she could force him to do all the work, and that was a plus. 

Malia dropped the hammer into his hand and walked over to the wall, then settled down to observe.

They wouldn't want him messing up or escaping, after all.

* * *

 

It took them a few hours, but the building was now secure from supernaturals. 

Stiles was sitting on a bench - more lying down on it. Malia was curled up on a table they'd pushed against a wall because having it in the middle of the foyer was just annoying, and peter was once again tied up and - even more so - in one of the holding cells, with mountain ash lining it.

If either of them thought for a second it was a bit much they'd slap the other and remind them that he's tried to kill them all on multiple occasions. So far, they haven't had to yet.

Stiles sighed, and pulled a hand down his face, before sitting up. "We're not done yet." He said, tiredly. "Humans are a problem, and we know Chimeras aren't affected by mountain ash. And wolfsbane - however poisonous - isn't deadly to anything except werewolves, so that's a highly specific trap. I've got some other stuff." He waved a hand at the junk.

"Some of those high pitched signal things the hunters use, some tripwire and bits and pieces of electronics and a fair few blueprints... we can get this done soon and be asleep before one... am."

Malia groaned. Despite this, she sat up and hopped off of the table. "Fine." She grumbled, and pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. Malia then stalked over to the bags, and then raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

Belatedly, he got up and walked over, before picking up two duffel bags.

"These ones." he instructed. 

They opened them, and Malia was surprised at the sheer amount of stuff that he had.

"Where'd you get all of this?" She wondered.

Stiles grimaced. "It wasn't me who got it," He replied, ominously. Malia understood what he meant.

"Well, at least it'll be used for good." She pointed out, optimistically. 

Stiles sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." 

Malia grinned. Stiles smiled slightly, and they got to work.

* * *

They got on with it and didn't rush, and were done for just past half past midnight. This was good timing, Malia thought. They could get some other stuff done now as well. 

"Anything else?" She asked, flopping down onto the floor, leaning against a wall.

"Setting up somewhere to sleep." He said, "But nothing permanent right now. I saw a couch in the main office - it looked clean enough."

Malia nodded, stood up, and took his hand. "That sounds fine."

Stiles nodded. 

The two of them walked upstairs, and settled in on the couch. 

Stiles seemed happy enough, Malia decided. The chemo signals weren't worrying, at any rate.

Slowly, they fell asleep. It was to be a restless night, for the both of them.

* * *

 

Malia blinked awake, drowsily. She sat up immediately, recognising her surroundings.

"Back again?" A voice purred into her ear. Turning onto her side she saw It laughing, leaning against one of the numerous pillars. 

Malia sat up, and glared at him. It. The Jungian Shadow.

"Not willingly." She grumbled. Malia got up from her sitting position, and found their game of go to still be there, though a few moves had been played since her absence. 

"We play without you here." He informed her. "A subconscious thing, if you will."

"We?" She demanded. He smirked. "Stiles and I, of course. Who else would we play with? _I,_ I play with?" He asked rhetorically.

She frowned at his stumble.

It glared at her. "So, maybe She left some stuff behind. So what?" He demanded. "'S'not like I'm a whole thing anyway. Just - parts of a person. And not the good ones, either. So it makes total sense I'd get the stuff _They_ left behind when  _He_ split from us. Stiles. Me."

Malia cocked her head, an action she'd done as a coyote to express confusion, curiosity. 

It inclined his head. "Multiple pronouns, some abilities, the void as you well know, yada yada." 

He flashed red-blue-purple-whiskey eyes. She frowned.

"And sure." He added. "The void and the spark and being bitten makes for some weird shit, not gonna lie. But that's part and parcel for the course. Of being - us. Isn't it?" He asked. 

She murmured, "I wouldn't know." in reply.

His smile was sharp.

"No." He agreed. "You wouldn't."

* * *

Stiles was awake when Malia came to. He handed her a bowl of milk-less cereal. She raised an eyebrow. "Unless you wanted warm, congealed milk, you're gonna have to wait 'till I can get some more."

Malia grimaced. She ate her dry cereal.

"What are we gonna do next?" She asked.

Stiles sighed. "As much as I hate to say this - We never did graduate."

"No." She said flatly. "Yes." He replied in kind.

Malia sighed. "Your idea's suck." 

He nodded. "I know."

And so they decided they'd enrol in school. What else were they going to do, without any qualifications?

* * *

Peter smiled as they entered. 

"Ah, if it isn't my captors. What do you wish for, Stiles, Malia?"

Stiles glared. "We were wondering if you knew anyone who can make good fake IDs."

Malia nodded. She glared at him as well.

"And here I was, thinking you'd like my company." Peter said drily. "Ah well. It appears you are in luck; for I know how to make them myself. So long as I have the correct equipment, of course."

Malia pushed the cart towards his cell. Peter shuffled over as dignified as possible, and looked inside. He looked surprised at the contents.

"Where did you get this, if I may ask?"

"I've had it for a while." Stiles said, shortly. Peter looked at him, curious.

"You mean-?" "Yeah." Malia interrupted, rushed. "Yeah. He got it during all the stuff that went down."

Peter raised an eyebrow, but nodded all the same.

"Then free me." He demanded. "Or I can't do anything."

Stiles did. Peter made them all new identities, with similar names. Made them all ever so slightly younger - a few months, weeks.

He gave himself a year or so. Neither of the others cared about the ages, just that they were getting believable ones.

Peter took stiles's licence and remade it. Kept it as a generic State of California one, and Stiles hoped beyond hope these would pass inspection.

He'd throttle him if they didn't. And that wasn't an empty threat.

* * *

 

Peter had been forced to drive them to the School -  _"As carefully as fucking possible" -_ to hold up appearances.

Peter was - unfortunately - Malia's guardian, after her family's death. Car accident. 

(They were keeping it as close to the truth as possible, so as to avoid slip-ups.)

Malia's new name was Leah. Really, that wasn't so difficult to remember. 

Peter was still Peter, of course. But he was Peter Tate, as much as Malia despised this change. 

Stiles was still Stiles - despite it's uniqueness. This was mainly because he refused to give his first name so that they could change it to a similar one. Instead, he wrote down the name to give him - Some ridiculously long thing, for the first name, and no middle with Stilinski as his last - and refused to say why he wouldn't tell at least Malia what his first name was.

With a sigh, Peter turned of the ignition. 

"Remember." He said disarmingly. "I'm the wonderful uncle of yours, dear  _Leah,_ who took you in when your parent's died. And Stiles, when your mother was deemed unfit for childcare, I took you in as well. You stay with us-"

"Because I'm dating  _Leah._ " He said drily, emphasising her new name. "Yeah, I get it."

"Now shut up and go find a job." 

Stiles got out of the jeep and grabbed his bag. Malia growled at Peter in warning, then followed suit. 

She got around to his side of the car. "Bye,  _Uncle creeper"_ Stiles hissed lowly, loud enough so that Peter would hear but not so much that anyone else would.

"Let's go." Malia commanded, before linking arms with Stiles and leading him towards the registration office.

They had a school to enrol in.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossoverrrr timmmmeee.  
> Also scoobies next chap. probably-maybe-definitely-possibly.


	5. And So They Meet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiles brightly at them, but it doesn't reach her eyes.   
> "Welcome to Sunnydale High!" She chirps.  
> Malia raises a quizzical eyebrow at the bubbly blonde.  
> The girl's smile falters slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline for buffy is a bit skewed, sorry. They arrive after S3/04 - Beauty and the Beasts, but before Ep. 5, homecoming. I'm extending the timeline slightly. Whoops.

Stiles and Malia are herded into the principal's office.

"New students, sir." The woman simpers, before hurrying off. 

The man behind the desk reminds Malia rather strongly of a rat. She instantaneously doesn't like him, and she can tell Stiles doesn't either. 

"More of you?" The man asks rhetorically. "Well, brats - let me tell you now. Sunnydale High expects the very best of it's students. No smoking, no drugs - especially not PCP - no murdering the other students in vicious ways, and pay attention in class. These are very simple rules. Do  _not_ break them."

He sneers at them. "Now, get to the Library. The librarian will give you your books."

The two of them turned to leave, but before they could, Principal Snyder added, "And avoid the people there. That is a crowd you do not want to be involved with, if you don't want a hard time of it in this school."

Malia scented his chemo signals.

His emotions were anything but pleasant, and she grabbed Stiles by the arm before pulling him out of the room.

Stiles blinked down at her. He placed a free hand on her shoulder, and they stopped in the middle of the hallway.

"He's harmless." Stiles soothed. "And it's not like we won't be leaving in a few anyway."

Malia sighed, and he put his arm around her shoulders as she put hers around his waist. 

"Fine." She muttered. "He just - rubbed me the wrong way, is all."

"No, he's an asshole." Stiles agreed. "But he won't do anything. A lot of posturing, I think. Sure he would follow through on kicking us out, but we'd leave town anyway after that, so it doesn't really matter."

"I want to graduate here though. So we don't have to do this again." She grumbled, as Stiles led them in the direction of the Library. 

A bell rang, and students filed out of the classrooms. The two of them pressed up against a wall so as not to be caught up by the sea of students.

"Excuse me." A girl demanded. "But you're in front of my  _locker._ And that is so, like, totally rude."

Stiles grimaced, and turned his head. "Sorry." He said. 

The girl frowned at them, looked Malia up and down and turned her nose up slightly. 

She looked Stiles up and down and her eyes lit up. Malia instantly did not like this girl. At all.

The teen brushed her blond hair behind her head, and smiled brightly at them, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Welcome to Sunnydale High!" She chirps.

Malia raises a quizzical eyebrow at the bubbly blonde.

The girl's smile falters slightly, before coming back full force. 

She grabs them by the arms and links with Stiles, before dragging them down the hallway. 

"I'm Harmony." She tells them. "And you are?" She directs the question at Stiles. He frowns. "Stiles." He said, flatly. "Leah." Malia tells her. "Leah Tate." 

"That's nice." She demurs, talking to Malia. 

She turns to Stiles. "What an interesting name." She smiles. Her eyes are glinting again. 

Stiles shrugs. "You couldn't pronounce my actual one."

The other girl looks offended. "Why not?"

"It's Polish." He told her drily. "Have you ever spoken in polish?"

She takes pause. And shakes her head. They've arrived at a sign, and 'Harmony' stops clinging to them. 

"Here's a map of the school." She tells them. "It's not that hard to remember, really. We're only a small place, after all." 

She laughs, as if that was supposed to be funny. A small, light, tittering thing. 

Malia grimaces. She stops laughing.

"And this is why  _I_ do the introductions,  _Harm."_ A voice says, faux-sweetly. 

"Cordy." Harmony replies in kind. "You weren't there, see, and so i-"

"Annoyed them." 'Cordy' finished. "Now run along, Harmony. Wouldn't want to be late for lunch."

The other girl glares, chastised. She hurries off, embarrassed. 

"Sorry about her." The brunette says breezily. "She's a pain, dear Harmony is."

"I'm Cordelia Chase. You must be the new people; 'Stiles' Stilinski and Leah Tate, yes?"

Stiles says "Yeah. That's us." As Malia nods, belatedly. 

Cordelia smiles. It's almost invisible, but it does reach her eyes. 

"Nice to meet you both then. Obviously, you'll need books; the library is this way. Follow me."

And they did. Cordelia quizzed them on a whole manner of things; from clothes (which they both knew thanks to Lydia), to animals (Scott, and Malia's time as a coyote), and random general knowledge, which Stiles knew most of thanks to Wikipedia. 

"Do you know how to defend yourselves?" She asked bluntly, as they arrived at the double doors to the library. 

They looked at her as if she was crazy.

"Of course." Malia scoffed. Stiles said " _Yes."_ at the same time, with a tone that made it seem he thought it obvious.

Cordelia smiled. Her eyes were sharp.

"Against what?" She inquired.

There was a pause, and they snuck a quick glance between themselves.

Cordelia's smile grew sharper.

"You'll need to speak to Giles, then." She said. "He's the librarian."

The other girl spun around and dramatically pushed both doors open, before striding confidently into the room.

"Hey, losers." She called out. 

Four people were sitting at the main table of the library. A blonde, tanned girl. A redhead female, a dark haired male and a light haired male.

From the office, a man whom Stiles assumed to be Giles emerged.

"Two new people. Giles, be a librarian for once."

And with that, Cordelia Chase left the room.

Another girl emerged from the caged off area. This one had dark, curly hair and leather trousers.

"What's up, B?" She asked of the blonde. 'B' replied. "Some new people. Who we haven't greeted yet." She prompted. 

"Oh!" The redhead smiled slightly sheepishly. "I'm Willow Rosenberg. This is Oz, and that's Xander. Buffy Summers is the one who just talked, and Faith is - uh - the other one that... just talked."

She smiled. Malia smiled half-heartedly back.

Stiles smiled. It was more convincing. 

"Good to meet you then." He turned to Giles, the librarian, who cleared his throat and cleaned his glasses.

"I will just go retrieve your books, then." He said, before walking off into the shelves.

"So, what's your names?" The Willow girl asked them.

Stiles looked to Malia. "Leah. Tate." She said, belatedly. Stiles turned his head back and smiled awkwardly. "Stiles."

The curly haired brunette nodded. "Well, B - I'm gonna go - run."

She seemed to hesitate, if only for a moment, before saying 'run'.

Her heartbeat sped up. Malia narrowed her eyes, and Stiles looked at her warily.

"You gonna meet and greet the newbies, yeah?" Faith asked of Buffy. The blonde sighed, and nodded. "Yeah, Faith."

The brunette sauntered out of the room.

The doors swung shut behind her.

The group all looked at each other awkwardly.

Stiles wandered over, and cocked his head at the books they were reading.

"... rituals: Witches and Limitless Power?" He asked, intrigued. 

Buffy slammed the book shut. "School project." She muttered, averting her eyes.

"...oh-kay.." Stiles replied. "What on?" He prompted.

"Mythologies. How people throughout history have... depicted magic?" Willow stated - more asked.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "...Right."

Malia scoffed. "Because that wasn't obvious."

Buffy glared. "It's true." She insisted.

"Sure." Malia shrugged. It wasn't her business anyway. 

"Why did Faith have a knife?" Stiles asked. "More importantly - why are there  _weapons in a library?"_ He inquired - more demanded.

Buffy winced, then looked away.

"...They're props?" Xander asked as an answer, weakly.

Malia rolled her eyes.

She thought about it, before looking to stiles. He looked at her flatly, almost as if saying,  _are we really gonna get involved?_

 _Yeah._ She replied.  _Yeah we are._

Malia flopped down onto a chair.

"Werewolves exist." She says, flatly, just to see their reactions. Stiles sighs and sits down next to her.

Buffy looks uncomfortable, Willow looks nervous, Oz looks... unflappable, and Xander looks like a weak link.

She glares at him, full force.

He shifts, nervous. Stiles rolls his eyes upwards, then looks at the others flatly before placing his hand on Malia's arm.

"What she's trying to ask - do you believe in the supernatural?" He asked.

Willow's telltale secretive smile and Xander's half-suppressed laugh is all they need.

Buffy looks exasperated. Malia would be as well, if her friends were this bad at keeping secrets.

Oz speaks. "Yes." He says, simply, expression staying the same and tone pleasant but leaving no clues. His heart did not skip a beat or speed up or anything, but Malia figures he's the kind of person who's so completely unflappable that that would be a useless method anyway.

Stiles nods. 

"I'm a werecoyote." Malia blurts out into the silence. She grimaces and shrugs at their looks - and frowns at Buffy's now tense frame.

Stiles stills, looks at the small blonde out of the corner of his eye.

All of his instincts scream at him to be wary of her. He's never ignored them before, and he isn't going to now.

"Really?" Willow asks, interested. She glances at Oz.

"Is it anything like being a werewolf?" She asks. 

"Pretty much the same, yeah." Malia replies. Oz suddenly looks interested. 

It's the most expression she's seen out of him. Malia realises that these people probably have no idea how to deal with lycanthropy properly.

Buffy asks, "Are you safe? Do you have a place for the full moons?"

Malia looks at her weirdly. "I've got my anchor sorted out. Full moons aren't really anything now."

"Anchor?" Oz asks. 

"Something that let's you control it." Stiles says. Oz turns his gaze towards Stiles.

"Control it?" Oz repeats. "Yeah." Stiles says, then extrapolates. "It can be anything. A feeling; like anger, control. A person, like a loved one. An object, or a mantra... anything that lets you focus... or let go of focus."

"Mine's control." Malia pipes up, then glances at Stiles. "And him."

Stiles smiles slightly, a genuinely pleased little thing. 

"How did you find it?" Oz asks. 

Buffy and Xander are looking at him weirdly. This might be more speaking than he does usually, Malia wouldn't know.

"I was chained up during a full moon, Stiles gave me a speech and wrestled me for a few and then - done." She waved a hand. "Control accomplished."

Buffy took a second glance at Stiles, and Malia could tell she was re-evaluating him. 

Xander whistled. "Wrestled a  _werecoyote?"_ He repeated, obviously impressed.

"While she was trying to kill you?" Buffy asked bluntly. Malia grimaced and Stiles frowned.

"I guess, yeah. But she didn't want to, either. Though she did."

Xander looked a little confused. Buffy nodded, and Oz looked contemplative. 

The librarian returned with their curriculum. 

"Hey Giles?" Buffy asked. He looked up. "Yes, Buffy?" She pointed at them. 

"Supernatural. Any books on the lowdown?"

"You still haven't read Vampyre." He commented. "And yes. I can loan them that, if they wish?"

He turned to address Stiles and Malia. Malia shrugged and Stiles nodded.

Giles sighed, then went back into the shelves.

Buffy smiled, and shook her head. 

"I know some other useful books." Willow said brightly. "hold on a sec-" And with that, she got up and went into the stacks. Oz followed.

Xander shrugged. "I don't know anything. Sorry."

Buffy nodded in kind. "Yeah. I should... but they all kinda overlap and it's a whole mess of info so really Will and Giles are your best bet."

Stiles nodded. Malia sighed.

"Are you anything?" Buffy asked Stiles.

"150 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, yeah." He grinned, jokingly. It was a clever diversion, yet an obvious one, and it was obvious to Malia that Buffy didn't buy it.

"Do you know what I am?" She asked instead. Malia shook her head, and Buffy took that as a sign to continue.

"A Slayer. Into every generation a girl is born, she alone will fight the darkness, and whatever evil stuff has risen that week. Blah blah, prophecies, super strength, heightened senses, et cetera." She shrugged. "Usual chosen one things."

Stiles inclined his head. He provided no further insight as to himself, though.

"And you." Buffy turned to Malia. "What things do you get, werecoyote-wise?" 

Malia shrugged. "Same as a werewolf really. Flashy eyes, fangs for teeth, claws, super strength, better senses."

"A demonstration?" Buffy inquired. Malia shrugged. 

She flashed her eyes, bright blue, growled and showed teeth. Turned that back to normal, before holding up her hand and watching as the nails turned to claws, then back again.

Buffy turned her head, looked at them warily.

"...That's nothing like Oz." Xander comments. "He's this big, hairy thing."

Stiles blinks in surprise, before flicking his eyes up in remembrance. 

"...Ah. Possibly a - full shift werewolf then?" He mused aloud. Obviously, the other two wouldn't know, and neither would they, having never seen the transformation themselves.

Malia and Stiles locked eyes, and she knew the words he stumbled over were  _corruption of a full shift wolf._

Malia looked away. Stiles sighed, took her hand. 

"Are you dating?" Buffy asked, a genuine, almost kind sort of curiosity. "Yeah." Stiles said. Malia smiled. "How long?" Buffy asked, an almost wistful, sad smile on her face.

"A while - months, at least." Malia replied. Buffy nodded, and that was the end of that conversation. 

The missing people wandered back in from the stacks, and a few books were placed carefully down onto the table. 

Stiles immediately grabbed the biggest one, and carefully leafed through the pages.

He looked up. "Old english?" He asked, drily, before continuing looking through.

"...Vampires..." He muttered, chuckling. Buffy raised an eyebrow. Malia answered for him.

"We didn't get any back home." She told the other girl. "Werewolves, Werecoyotes, Chimeras, and a bunch of others. But no witches, no vampires."

Buffy looked disbelieving. "I don't believe that."

"Oh, it's highly likely." Giles disagreed. "Witches, vampires... they all tend not to get along well with Shapeshifters. The Were-creatures think that the others are encroaching on their territory... they are rather territorial beings, considering the animal side of them."

"Hello." Malia said drily. "Werecoyote right here, all human and non-territorial and everything."

Stiles looked amused, as did a few others. Giles coughed. "Ah. Well, yes."

The bell rang. The other students deflated, and started packing up. Stiles bundled all the non-school books into his bag, whilst Malia put all the school books into hers.

Xander asked "Isn't that-?" as she did so, but stopped when she shouldered it easily. "Oh." He said belatedly. "Super strength. Right."

The teen shrugged. "Well, see you later G-man. We've got a hell called lessons to go to now. You might as well follow us, by the way." He added to his goodbye. 

The other's called out farewells in kind, and Stiles and Malia shrugged before following behind.

Classes may be unhelpful currently, but they will let them get jobs and not be stupid later on in life. Malia must remember this.

* * *

 

The two of them arrive in history and almost immediately walk right out again, damn the consequences. 

Because, of course, Peter is standing up at the front with a 'charming' smile on his face. 

"Welcome." He greets. "I'm Peter Tate, and I'm your substitute History teacher for the foreseeable future. Everyone, take a seat."

Peter pretends to look down at the register. "It seems we have two new students, as well." 

He looks up, and smiles. "Leah Tate, and Stiles Stilinski. Welcome to Sunnydale High; now take your seats with the rest of the class."

Stiles was glaring, and Malia felt the threat of a growl coming on. 

Buffy looked at them warily and dragged them down into two empty seats before taking hers; between Xander and Willow and behind Stiles.

The  _fucking goddamn asshole_ Teacher smiles. 

"Shall we get started then? The topic were seemed to be almost finished on was - World War two, interesting."

He smiled. The two that knew him well enough could see the vicious glint in his eyes.

"I think we'll learn about the Japanese Detainment camps in today's lesson." He said. There were a mix of looks of confusion and looks of horrified understanding in the room.

And some  _fucking assholes_ who didn't seem to give a shit either way, despite how  _absolutely fucking disgusting_ those camps were.

Stiles would know, though he hates  _why_ and  _how_ he knows.

He also knows that this is some kind of sick game, a way to mess with them on Peter's behalf.

Stiles has to hand it to the man, as he clenches onto his desk with white knuckles. 

_The fucker picked the perfect topic._

Malia looked at Stiles worriedly from the corner of her eye. 

Buffy could see his white knuckles, but she couldn't get another detention this soon after being allowed back into school, so she sat tight despite her wishes not to.

Stiles' grip tightened as the lesson went on.

"... There were many of these camps in America." Peter continues. "All of them rather terrible places. Officially, the reason for this was because, and I quote 'there was indeed concern in official quarters and panic in public circles about the loyalties of Japanese Americans and the possibility of assistance that might be given to the Japanese Empire, given the shock and fear that followed the attack on Pearl Harbor'. However, many consider the internment to have resulted more from racism than from any security risk posed by Japanese Americans. It was obviously quite the terrible state of affairs.

There were many of these camps, of course; from the Fresno Fairgrounds, to Forest Park to Fort Stanton and Oak Creek. Many of them were in this very state of California. Most of the people incarcerated in these places were taken from the West Coast..."

And so it went on. And Stiles dug his fingers further into the desk, not even noticing because of how focused he was on not simply bolting.

"Is there any questions?" Peter asked after finishing.

_Fuck no. Nobody talk._

"Mr. Tate, I've heard about Oak Creek before, from my Aunt." a girl with dark hair spoke. "There's this folk tale surrounding it; she wouldn't tell me though."

_Fuck you. And rightly so, she didn't._

Peter sighed. "Yes. Oak Creek. I don't know much of the folk tale; but I do know some of the facts - I wouldn't be a very good history teacher, if I didn't." He smiled.

Stiles hated him viciously. 

"Now, this is not a happy story." He told the class. "This is a story of love, of loss, and madness. From what historians can gather, One of the camp's soldiers fell in love with one of the camp's prisoners, and vice verca.

You can all tell where this story is going, so I will spare you the small details.

Suffice to say, there isn't much evidence as to how, but the Corporal died. And, in turn, his lover went... how shall I put this?... homicidal. She killed nearly everyone in the camp, doctors, soldiers, and the other incarcerated Japanese.

Eventually, she realised what she was doing, and committed what is known as _Seppuku._ She used a sword belonging to another of the incarcerated to do so.

In these days, you would call it suicide.

And that, of course, is how the tale of Oak Creek goes.

Now. Does anyone else have any questions?"

the mood in the room was sombre.

Stiles was shaking, slightly. His fingers were digging grooves into the desk, and his left foot was tapping fast and quiet. 

Peter pretended to just notice, and looked at him with faux worry.

_Nope, fuck this, I'm out._

Stiles stood up, abruptly, and did not care in the slightest if his crazy reputation got started all over again because  _fuck him, and fuck his mind games._

Stiles bolted. 

"Stiles!" Malia called after him. She glanced at Buffy, and followed.

Buffy stayed put. She wouldn't know what to do, anyway. And she had a bad feeling about this teacher. She was keeping an eye on him.

* * *

 

Stiles stormed out of the school's front doors. 

"Go back to class, Mal." He grumbled, and she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. 

"Nope." She said flatly. He wrenched his arm free. He was still shaking, still vibrating with unspent nervous, angry energy.

He couldn't decide which. They both went hand in hand, these days.

Malia dragged him towards the gym. They went inside, and she broke into the store room. 

Malia grabbed and pulled out a punching bag.

"Punch it." She commanded. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Think of someone you hate." She demanded. "And punch the fucking bag, Stiles."

He did. It snapped, and crashed backwards.

 _"fuck."_ He cursed, and glared at it. Malia did not in the least bit look surprised, she just grabbed the bag and held it. 

"Punch it. Again." She commanded. He did, and his hand went through.

Malia dropped it. 

She folded her arms, and glared at him. "Feel better?" She asked.

He didn't reply. 

She glared. "fucking-  _Goddamn it Stiles!"_ She punched him in the arm, and he felt the slightest twinge. 

"Fight me." She demanded. He looked at her, incredulous.

"No." He protested. 

"Kiss me then." She demanded.

He did.

* * *

 

Faith strolled on into the library. Buffy and the rest of the Scoobies were reading. 

"Hey B. The newbies are gettin' it on in the boy's locker room. Thought you'd like to know they didn't just run off."

Xander blinked. 

Giles looked scandalised, for a moment, before sighing. He cleaned his glasses.

Willow closed her book. "... oh." She murmured. "Okay."

Faith grinned at Buffy, who sighed in response. Looked at the brunette flatly.

"What?" The girl grinned. "He's hot, by the way. Hides that body under baggy clothes. Shame they're attached at the hip, though."

There was a pause. "She's hot too, though."

"I would prefer if you refrained from this whilst an adult is present, Faith." Giles said, drily.

She grinned. "O'course, Watcher." 

Giles sighed, and entered his office.

He closed the door behind himself.

Faith was still grinning as she dropped down into a chair, and threw both her legs over the armrest.

"So." She started. "What's with the research, Red?" She asked. Willow shrugged. 

"Buffy want's to know what Stiles is." She says, and Buffy frowns. "Not - exactly. He just - there's no sign of anything, he avoided telling me earlier, he pressed finger-shaped grooves into the desk in History - I don't know. I just... weird slayer vibes."

Faith grinned. "Well, that sounds like fun. Why don't you just ask him again?"

Buffy looked at her flatly. "Didn't you hear Faith? I tried."

"Not well enough. You're a slayer, B. Don't take nothin' for an answer."

A light glinted in the back of Buffy's eye. 

Faith smiled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaahhhh! Finally.  
> the Scoobies have been met, along with some others.  
> (Ugh, Harmony.)  
> also, peter is the legitimate worst. Fuck him.


	6. Peter; the asshole that should be punched in the face. Many a time.

The rest of the school day went by without so much as a hitch. 

Stiles and Malia blended right back into the crowd just at the end of lunch (having snuck out to get some food) and went to each of the rest of the classes, entering just as the bell rang and being the first two to leave at the end of the lesson.

This was in part because the evil eye they were getting from Buffy unnerved them slightly. But then, she wasn't even in a few lessons, and they weren't even slightly surprised when she skedaddled out of the window one lesson - a glimpse of curly brunette hair following behind the blonde's departure giving evidence as to why.

The two of them, however, did not relax. This behaviour, obviously not paranoia, paid off when they were cornered at the end of the day. The two were herded into an empty classroom by the group from the library, who had surrounded them and drove them into the room.

They let the others do so. After all, Stiles didn't want to cause a scene in the crowded hallway. Malia would rather the rest of the school _not_ know about the whole supernatural thing, so she went along with it.

They weren't going to be passive, however. Malia dodged Buffy's arm and smacked it away - resulting in a grunt of pain and a wary expression from the blonde.

"Don't even think about it." Malia said, flatly. Stiles folded his arms, leaned against the teacher's desk. The group was across from them, blocking the exit - if the one they decided upon was the door, that is.

Malia ignored the others in favour for the blonde. Stiles kept a wary eye on the brunette, but also flicked his vision in the direction of the other members of the interrogation squad every now and then.

Buffy huffed, her blonde hair moving aside. "Who are you really?" She asked. Demanded, rather; her countenance was confident, though she directed suspicion at the pair.

"Chill, B." Faith laughed. "We just wanna know if you're here to kill us." Faith - the curly-haired brunette in leather pants - informed them. "If you aren't, then 's all five-by-five, yeah?"

The blonde huffed again, whereas the red-head; Willow, and the Brown-haired male; Xander (if they remembered correctly) both looked a tad bit dubious in their belief of that statement.

Willow spoke up. "You can tell us. I promise nothing bad'll happen." She said brightly, perhaps hoping to gain their trust from one sentence.

"We're not here to hurt anyone." Malia replied, angrily, eyes flashing blue. "And we are who we say we are." the werecoyote folded her arms.

"Really." Stiles added. "We aren't saying any lies, alright?"

"You still haven't told me what you are." Buffy grumbled. "Describing facts about yourself isn't very helpful. Be more..." She seemed to struggle to find a word to describe what she meant. "Be more helpful." The girl shrugged. "I just want to keep this town safe. And my job description is to - what, 'save the world from the forces of darkness' or something."

Stiles laughed, a little, as did Malia. "We're not that." She assured the slayer.

Stiles' smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah."

Faith's eyes, for a second, narrowed. The teen brushed it off, and nodded. "Well then, s'pose you'll need some stakes and shit, right?" Buffy sighed, and willow looked scandalised. "Faith!"

Faith looked flatly at the redhead. "really, Red?"

Willow shrugged, uncomfortable. That was that, it seemed, as the other group seemed to drop it. "Come on." Buffy beckoned. "There's stuff at the library."

"Interesting base of operations." Stiles quipped, drily. "We used our houses."

Buffy looked at him weirdly. "Well, we can't. So come on."

Stiles and Malia shared a glance, before shrugging and following behind.

They might as well, after all. And it meant less time spent in a run-down police station with Uncle Creeper, so stiles was all down for that.

As was Malia. She'd rather not spend time with her dear old sperm donor.

* * *

 The library was, indeed, stocked to the brim with an arsenal of weaponry. Stiles supposes he should be impressed, however...

"Where's the guns?" Malia asked, a tad confused.

Buffy got this... _look_ on her face; Stiles could tell she had a rather strong distaste for them. He figured, in her line of work, a friend might've been shot once or twice. And yeah, he gets that, but really. Guns are just tools - the intent is solely the wielders. And stiles (probably) isn't about to go bat-shit crazy (again) and murder a whole bunch (more) people, so she should probably come to grips with the idea that he ain't getting anywhere _near_ the undead, no sir.

Stiles hearted up an axe, and felt the strain of his muscles. He raised an eyebrow at the blonde. "Not the most practical." He said, drily - because, in all seriousness, it _wasn't._

Though he'd be fine with a baseball bat, or - hell. Maybe even, oh - _a lead pipe wrapped in barbed wire._

Or maybe even a wrench. Y'know, for the symbolism.

Stiles grimaced, and put the axe back.

"Careful with that." The librarian-watcher guy: Giles, warned him. "That is one of the older pieces, it would cost a fair fortune to replace, let alone repair it."

The blond got a dawning look of realisation on her face, then nodded to herself.

Apparently, that explained something to the slayer. Stiles doesn't have a clue what, and truly couldn't care less about it.

"Still." Malia demanded, "Guns?"

The watcher dude frowned. "I would have thought you wouldn't require one... what with the, ah - claws and fangs and such."

Malia looked at him weirdly. "Well, for one; I don't just go around biting _people,_ they taste nothing like deer - and -" here, her gaze turned flat - "I wasn't asking for me."

Giles blinked, then nodded. Stiles was having a hard time getting a read on the man; his instincts were all... out of whack. Both trusting - like with Parrish, and not - but not like, in the same way as they had been for say, Peter.

Ack. Stiles had almost supressed the knowledge that the Senior Creeper Hale was here with them. Now that, _that,_ could have been dangerous.

Stiles felt the frown he hadn't noticed deepen. They shouldn't have untied him; They're old enough for emancipation, they should've worked with that.

Breaking out of his thoughts, Stiles blinked at Malia; she'd been tapping his shoulder for at least a minute.

Oh great. Now he was getting weird looks. Today was going _wonderfully_.

"Oh good, you're there." Malia cocked her head. "You alright?"

Stiles waved her off. _Later,_ his gaze read - and his chemo signals weren't worrying, per say, so she let it pass for now.

Malia shrugged, righting her head. "Sure." she grimaced, still not very good at - eh, 'segues' - so she simply barrelled on, as was still intrinsic to her nature.

"Buffy asked if you know how to shoot." She said frankly - though her eyes sparked with amusement.

Stiles grumbled unflatteringly about the _ex-_ us marshal before sighing.

"I ah - kinda?" Stiles shrugged. "I mean, if the thing isn't thrown at me, and I don't have to catch it, and actually get to use it I don't think I'd be so bad."

Malia ignored the others. "Knew you'd never actually used one."

Stiles scoffed, and rolled his eyes. Malia grinned, a little.

"Fine, fine." Stiles let out as a sigh, reluctantly.

"Got a bat?" He asked the gathered group. There was confusion, he could tell - and Giles sighed, most likely exasperated, then cleaned his glasses rather unnecessarily. "Might I ask _why_ a... a bat would be your second choice?"

Stiles blinked. "Got most experience with a bat. Though metal is better..." Stiles frowned, tilted his head. "Know what? Never mind; we brought one."

Stiles glanced at Malia, who was frowning. "Remember? When, on the road - " he gestured vaguely, throwing his arm out to the side and jerking his head slightly, quirking his eyebrows upwards for a moment.

This, of course, made no sense to the scoobies; since they weren't there, nor were they very well versed in _Stiles._

Malia was, however. She nodded in understanding, an annoyed grimace and slight frown decorating her face.

There was silence in the library, for a moment. Mental snorts happened in the heads of the Doctor Who fans.

The silence was uncomfortable - quite obviously - and stiles shifted; restless and uncomfortable.

Malia nodded awkwardly in goodbye to the gang of Sunnyvale locals, who gave their own awkward farewells in return.

Malia lead her boyfriend out of the library- again, he seemed lost in thought.

Her frown deepened. She'd rather deal with that Jungian shadow thing, before he has a chance to discover it.

The tightening of her grip went unnoticed by the both of them, focusing on problems inside their heads as they were.

The two walked to the jeep on autopilot, entered, and drove.

Peter could make his own way back, they figured; perhaps vindictively hoping he'd not find the station.

Wishful thinking, the couple agreed, and the drive back went in comfortable silence. 

* * *

Peter was rather happy with the trouble he'd managed to stir up without being openly antagonising to Stiles and his _dear_ daughter.

Well... perhaps a little. Peter smirked to himself, eyeing his handiwork.

The tripwire ran along the window sill, thin and hard to spot, sans super senses. Peter co'' owed it, noting where it was connected and the traps it would both trigger and active, and smiled to himself - in what no one in their right mind would deem as a nice way of doing so.

Peter nodded. His helpful deed done for the week, the man left the building via the front door, tipping the mountain ash jar to close the line, before wandering over to the car he'd... borrowed, opening the door and getting in.

He had a job to do.

* * *

 some weird shit is going on with the text-input area thing, and so I'm posting this as-is. Sorry it's so short, but at least this is proof i haven't like, died or some shite.


	7. A little bit of something.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens. Sorry for the 'filler', but there always is calm at some point in a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. I'm mostly trying to figure out plot, hah. Maybe another chapter or two before the next buffy episode comes into play. We'll see.

The next morning was warm; Stiles still hadn't figured out how to fix the AC in the police station, so the office he and Malia were sleeping in (for now) was pretty much boiling hot. Stiles grimaced; as he shifted to get up off the couch, his t-shirt stuck to his skin in uncomfortable ways. Stiles stood, and stretched. 

"Come on Mal." He said, tapping his girlfriend on her shoulder. It was an odd occasion when he woke up first - simply because her ingrained clock woke her up at the crack of dawn, usually. 

Leftovers from her time as a coyote, he knows. Stiles brushed strands of hair which had fallen over her eyes, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, before going to his bag and grabbing some clothes. 

They'd found an abandoned gym with still working showers a short walk away. Stiles grabbed a pen and scratched a note into the table, before switching clothes quickly and leaving the room. 

He wondered why Malia was still out cold, but decided she was most likely only tired. It had been a long few months - being able to finally semi-relax must be even more surprising for her. 

* * *

When Malia and Stiles had gotten to the station the previous night, the building had been cool enough to fall asleep in - at least, for Malia. She liked her warmth (of course she did) but she preferred a cool breeze on her face and a warm body to curl up against; be it around or as the little spoon. (although she preferred the opposite usually, it was nice to be held. It felt safe, and she admits to herself the life she's led so far has left little time for that.) 

So. The two of them are curled up on the couch, and Malia feels drowsy. It doesn't take long for her to fall asleep, but by god she wishes it had. 

The white, endless room is starting to annoy her. 

"Why do I always end up here?" She asks, and is not surprised in the slightest to hear the shifting of fabric, the other leaning against one of the infinite columns evenly spread around the 'room'. 

He chuckles, slightly - as per usual, there's something... off, about it - something she can't quite place. 

(Malia never met the Nogitsune. Not properly. She could place it if her only meeting hadn't been him saving her life in a dark basement. At least it kept that deal with Stiles - though Malia hates she's the real reason It got in stiles properly in the first place. Enough to feel guilt for the deaths it caused afterwards... she's a werecoyote. Even then, when she hadn't been able to access that part of herself properly, she shouldn't have been so easily dropped by some guy.)

"I suppose it's the connection Stiles made with you." He says. "You were invited into our space. And now you can't get out again." The shadow muses, prowling forth towards the stump, gently placing a hand on it, near reverently.

Malia glances at it. "I don't know why it's still here." He admits. "It should have gone once we left it's... territory, so to speak."

The fraction of Stiles smirks at her. "I suppose that happens when you sacrifice yourself to such an old being. You can never quite rid yourself of it."

Malia can't help but ask; call it morbid curiosity. 

"How many times has...?" She trails off. Death is still a sore subject for her. But if she knows, and knows that despite all this, he's still here, maybe it'll calm her nerves.

(Sometimes, Stiles smells... odd. Off, in some way - like he's not really there. Like a fleeting, phantom scent of what once was, but isn't anymore. Malia wonders if one day, that'll be permanent.)

(She thinks she might go truly crazy if it does.)

The smirk hasn't left the shadow's face. "Technically, twice. But really, only once... unless you count dying inside - mental breakdowns, and the like - in which case, possibly many, and yet none at all."

Malia rather despises this being - but she knows it's only a twisted version of her boyfriend. This talking in circles thing is something she knows well. She hates It, this being, but could never hate him. 

Although she glowers at him, he never stops looking faintly amused. "Fine, fine." He relents. "The sacrifice, and his original body was destroyed in the process of trapping Them." He cocks his head; animalistic in a way Stiles' usual head tilts just aren't. "But that's not important, because he's as alive as he can be right now." The other points out, then sits cross-legged on the stump between them. 

"Shall we continue?" It asks, and she concedes. Malia approaches the stump, sits on it, her legs to the side. 

The go table appears in front of them, a few moves onward from when she left last. Stiles has given her some breathing room in this game, it seems.

"He's better than you are." It says, amused still. "But then, he had to fight a thousand year old being off with this little game." The expression turns darker. "I don't think he had much choice."

Malia inclines her head. The other moves a piece, and she moves hers, capturing a little more territory. 

The other looks... pleased. Malia still doesn't know what this game is even for - or if she truly wants to know in the first place. 

"We're playing for knowledge." The shadow states, regardless. "The little parts of himself Stiles doesn't want to acknowledge - since he's always been rather fond of ignoring his problems - that I have to keep." He admits. "Abilities and such that you'll - he'll, need." It says, the shadows on his face darkening despite the lack of any real light source.

It's just ambient lighting, in this room. Malia's not sure why it's so bright - or even why it's white. And empty. If this is stiles' head in the first place anyway, but she'd always figured (if mind spaces existed) that his wouldn't be so...

Bland.

The shadow inclines his head, and moves a piece. 

Malia realises he's trying not to win. The other smirks, and the game continues.

* * *

Stiles uses the gym for more than a shower, of course - after all, it's a gym. He might as well use the abandoned buildings' resources for his own benefit; after all, they'd go to waste if he didn't. 

And it's not like Stiles is a stranger to exercise. He was on the lacrosse team, no matter how... not really on the team he was. 

(He means that he's literally had to exercise previously, even if he didn't want to. And he does, because he needs to be able to keep up with the supernatural, even if only a little bit. Since it's not like he's got supernatural strength, or anything like that.)

Once stiles is done using the equipment, he uses the facilities they don't have in the station, gets ready and dressed and (since he's got shit to do) dries his hair with the one remaining and working hand dryer. 

Once that's done, he leaves the building, re-seals the mountain ash and re-arms the wolfsbane trap at the side door entrance they use. 

He hears the movement before anything else - a crunch of feet that are trying to be stealthy but not quite managing it. Stiles stills, hand on the kanima venom spray he keeps with him these days. 

"Relax." An amused voice says, and stiles rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Peter." He greets, dry and obvious in his distaste. 

"I see you found a working bathroom." He says without preamble, and Stiles nods. "Going to let me in?" The older man asks. "I haven't had a shower in days; Malia's starting to glare and others to notice." Peter states. "It wouldn't be good for people to blow our cover now, would it?" 

Stiles glowers, but the mountain ash breaks at his will anyway. 

Peter smirks, and enters. Stiles rolls his eyes, and clambers onto the fire escape of the building next door. 

Stiles grimaces. They really need to build some proper routes around these roofs. It would be much easier for him to mountain ash everything that way. 

Stiles sighs, and manoeuvres his way around the rooftops until he gets to the one opposite the police station. Stiles drops down to the fire escape, and climbs down the the bottom, entering the building through the door. Stiles Makes sure all traps are working in the building, then exits and crosses the road, carefully closing the door behind himself and making sure there's no-one watching from the street.

This road is... oddly quiet. Stiles hasn't seen any signs of vampire nests, or any other kind of supernatural hanging around the area.

He doesn't like it. The silence is upping his paranoia every second he's not absolutely certain they're safe.

Stiles closes the door. He knows Peter probably couldn't get in the Station last night - considering the Mountain ash, but doesn't much care. Stiles also knows they should be keeping an eye on the asshole, but also doesn't much care about that, either.

Malia's downstairs; this station has a kitchenette - but not one that was original to the Station. It's a small, downstairs office turned food space, and Stiles is grateful to whatever squatter did this - even if he feels a little anxious as to what killed said squatter.

Stiles walks into the kitchen, and can see Malia meandering around and checking if the appliances still work well enough to not need replacement.

"Microwaves a bust." Malia says. "Gas oven flickers a bit but doesn't light... that might just be me not doing it right, though." She admits, and they share an amused glance. He never had gotten around to teaching her cooking properly, and that needed fixing once they were all settled in. Malia carries on. "The fridge isn't working, which isn't good, and I cleaned out some old food from the cupboards. None of this was in good shape anyway; whoever set this up knew what they were doing, but all of this is really old - stuff they found in a junkyard, I guess." She figures, and Stiles nods because that is likely correct.  

"Need me to break the ash so you can get the broken stuff out of here?" Stiles asks - fully aware she could carry the fridge with little effort. Malia flashes a smile and nods - a little proud, he knows, and she has right to be, Stiles understands that. 

So Stiles breaks the ash, and Malia carries the fridge to the side alleyway. She unceremoniously drops it, returns in side and he closes the barrier. The only thing that worries him about this set up is that she can't get out herself if necessary, and that if he breaks the barrier on the ground floor at any point, someone else who's affected can then get into the ground floor.

Case in point; when they re-enter, Peter is just inside the doorway - having gotten in prior to Stiles closing the barrier.

"We need a better system." Malia sighs, then enters the kitchen. She pauses, then turns to Stiles.

"Any books on fixing microwaves?" She asks, not expecting him to say yes. Of course he doesn't, and she sighs.

"I'll try not to fry myself then." Malia half-jokes, then enters the kitchen - no door to shut behind her.

Stiles turns to Peter, who is looking amusedly after Malia. "What?" Stiles demands, and Peter chuckles. Stiles is still grating from earlier - well, the other day - and Peter knows this; Stiles knows he knows, and it just irritates him further. 

The man turns, and goes into one of the offices that he's claimed for himself. Stiles hears the click of the door (and knows he shouldn't.) sighs, and goes upstairs. 

The sheriff's office is similar but not quite the same to the one in Beacon Hills, and for that Stiles is glad. The board here is empty, because there's nothing Stiles needs to put up there yet. The string is on the cabinet next to it, and papers from previous mysteries are filed away in draws devoted to those events. 

The room is familiar without being the same. Stiles finds comfort in this. 

He closes the door behind himself, and blocks it with mountain ash - closing the line that goes around the room. 

Stiles moves over to the desk. On it, is some papers regarding events in Sunnydale; strange deaths and obvious cover-ups.

And anything and everything to do with what he's dubbing 'the scooby gang' for pseudo-anonymity. 

Stiles doesn't know why, but he needs to figure these things out. Not be retold them in a biased manner by biased people who will give biased retelling of half-remembered events, but the truth about them.

He opens his laptop. Well, it's not really his - but it is now, and it's not like his dad can stop him using it anymore. 

Stiles wonders how difficult it would be to get the police records from Sunnydale using a Beacon Hills Sheriff's department's laptop. Stiles doesn't even know if that gives any advantage over just any other old laptop - but having this here is a kind of... memento, he supposes, of Beacon Hills. Of his dad. 

Stiles opens a privet browser, and does what he does best.

Research. 

* * *

 

 

 


	8. In the Interim.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buffy really doesn't know what to make of the new students. On the one hand, they seem like genuinely decent people - but on the other, her slayer senses tingle in ways that make her wary of them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. Thank staliaaf for kicking me into gear, whoops. So yes, thanks for kicking me into gear with this chapter, lol. Again, apologies for the long wait.

Buffy really doesn't know what to make of the new students. On the one hand, they seem like genuinely decent people - but on the other, her slayer senses tingle in ways that make her wary of them both. 

"I get ya, B." Faith says, responding to Buffy admitting her concerns. "The guy definitely feels off, but sometimes slayer senses can be more objective than necessary. Like with Oz; mine are telling me he's bad news but the guy's pretty decent, right? So I just tend to only listen to the vamp side, unless any demon or otherwise is being obviously evil."

Buffy inclines her head, because that does make sense - it's a good way to look at it, she thinks. 

"I just..." Buffy shakes her head. It's hard to put it into words, but there's  _something_ that's just plain  _off_ about both of them. Like they don't belong, or something, but that's ridiculous. Because what she means by that, is that they don't belong  _here,_ in this  _reality,_ which quite frankly is way freaky, and Buffy really does not like that, because it's weirder than what she signed up for.

It's like the idea of meeting a decent demon.  _Freaky._ At least, to Buffy. 

She tells Faith this, and the other girl shrugs, glances down at the grave beside them.

"I guess." The brunette says. "It seems like something's off with them, anyway - even without  _that_ feeling." 

Buffy nods, because it  _does._ One thing she has to admit is that 'Stiles' being 'Leah's' method of controlling her coyote side seems... unreliable. What if something were to happen to him? Would she go on a rampage? What would, could,  _might_ happen?

Buffy doesn't know, and that frustrates her.

And then, for another thing, 'Stiles' himself is a puzzle. Firstly, he says he's '150 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone' and avoids ' _human',_ for another he can dig groves into wooden desks with his fingers without noticing, and thirdly her slayer senses are  _screaming_ at her that he's _dangerous_ , but the guy appears to be nothing other than plainly  _human,_  in the same way that Willow and Xander and Giles and Cordelia do.It's bewildering, and Buffy hates that - hates not knowing if she should punch him or befriend him, or the girl 'Leah', or whatever because she's super confused, alright?

 _Super_ confused. Buffy tells Faith this, because she needs a sounding board and Faith gets the slayer stuff in ways Willow or any of her other friends simply cannot.

"Well, you could work all this out by a good old fistfight if this asshole would get up already." Faith said, nodding down to the grave next to them.

"I'd sit back, give you pointers while you ranted." Faith offered. Buffy shook her head. 

"I got the last one," She replied, "It's only fair you fight this guy."

Faith huffed out a laugh, smiling. "Yeah alright B. You can vent while I stake the vamp."

They look to the ground. "If he ever shows up." Buffy adds, dubiously. "Are we sure this is the right guy?"

Faith squints at the gravestone. "Good ol' Billy Rogers; yeah, this is the guy."

Buffy sighs, leans back against the gravestone behind her - a cross, with the name 'Lily Dawson' scrawled across the horizontal part. Buffy wondered what she might have been like in life. 

"Wonder what people would think if they saw this." Buffy laughs, a little - a thought she's had since forever, really, even back at her old school. She cared a bit more about it though, then. 

Faith's grin is back. "Probably that we're a bunch of weirdos, honestly. Two girls that hang around in graveyards, chatting about vampires and weird mythology." She raises an eyebrow. "Maybe they'd even think it was a date."

Buffy laughs. Faith shrugs, and turns her head, frowning in the direction of the ground where the vamp should come out. "Well," She segues. "This lowlife is takin' a lot longer than expected." Her mouth twists. "I say we go bronzing, see if there are any lurking about in there and get a couple rather than just one."

Buffy pauses, looks up to the sky and thinks, for a moment. "Yeah," She agrees. "that's probably a better use of time anyway." 

Faith grins. She stands, and offers Buffy her hand. "Come on then B. Sun won't wait for anyone."

Buffy nods, and takes her hand, is pulled up to a standing position. "Sure." She says, and lets go. 

* * *

The streets are quiet, at this time of night. The day had been a normal one after yesterday's events - almost boring, actually. Stiles was adding traps and defences against vampires and a few other supernatural types around the building, as Malia read over the book on what amounted to fixing appliances she'd gotten from the library at Sunnydale High. 

Frowning, she huffed, and strands of hair were buffeted away from her face. 

"I think I got it." She said - a little dubious, but nevertheless she nodded to herself, grabbed the microwave and the toolbox, and got to work. 

"Careful," Stiles warned, as he hammered the cross to the windowsill. 

Malia nodded absently as she worked on the appliance. 

"What do you think of the scoobies?" She asked - using what Stiles dubbed them in his research. 

"The usual paranoia," Stiles said drily, "but also some concrete evidence that they are definitely the good guys."

Malia hummed. "Good; that's a nice change." 

"You're telling me," Stiles replied. "I found some stuff on PCP gangs and serial killers that use those weird two-pronged forks and stab their victims necks with them, oddly like vampiric bite marks if you think about it for long enough." He chuckled, slightly. "It seems this town is just as oblivious as Beacon, possibly even more. But anyway, those guys seem to be behind a lot of the evil demons deaths, and any good or neutral or self-preserving ones stay under the radar and are left well alone."

"Any humans?" Malia asked, frowning. "...Sort of," Stiles replied - also frowning. "There was this one guy not long before we arrived who died, along with his girlfriend. Buffy was the last to see them, and a room was found with a load of chemicals and shit. Real Jekyll-and-Hyde scenario, that was, I think." 

He laughed, in a way that wasn't humorous. "Kind of like what happened with me, but he actually made it happen and wanted it, which makes him kind of a terrible person." 

"It's nothing like what happened with you and  _It."_ Malia says. "What happened then was  _not_ your fault and you know it."

Stiles shrugs - hits a nail a little harder than necessary. "Yeah," he agrees, unconvincingly, and the topic is dropped. 

"What else did you find?" 

"A while back," Stiles begins, "There was this thing that happened with the swim team. I can't quite find everything out about it, but I figure that the coach disappearing when the team did - who were turned into weird aquatic monsters - doesn't bode well for him."

Malia winced. "Okay, so some humans as collateral damage then."

Stiles nodded, sighing. "More than Beacon hills ever got... before I got possessed, murdered a whole hospital and blew up part of the Sheriff's department anyway."

Malia sighed, but didn't press the topic. It would be a long while before Stiles was ready to talk about that, she knew. 

 _'That's why you push.'_ A voice says in her head, exasperated.  _'He has to talk about it, or I get more of his suppressed shit, and I get... darker. The less of a Jungian Shadow you see day-to-day, the worse they are._

She ignores it. 

* * *

 

Giles sighs, pinches his brow. So far, since the two new students have arrived, he's been approached by Buffy, for information on them, Willow, for information on werecreatures - obviously a newfound drive to helping Oz with his lycanthropy - and Faith, surprisingly, for information on Slayers. 

He'd been able to help Faith's query with no issues, and Willow's request only took a slight detour into the stacks to find some of the older books in order to complete. 

But Buffy's...

So far, he hadn't found a single record for either teenager, aside from the ones on file at the school. Birth certificates, the usual forged id that teenagers use for going to bars and the like (which was of surprisingly high quality, he'd noticed), a drivers licence for the boy and literally nothing else. The general footprint left behind by people who exist in the system, such as prior schooling, just wasn't there.

Apparently, according to some physical documentation, the new teacher Peter Tate was the uncle of Leah Tate (likely on her father's side given their shared last name, if that family followed the traditions of the lady taking the fathers name, but it could be that the father took the mothers name, or the child has either parents name but the parents didn't take each others names, or any other combination that makes finding out her heritage incredibly difficult) and her legal guardian after her parents death in a car crash when she was around nine years old. 

But there's no documents on Peter Hale aside from the bare minimum, and there's certainly no records of him having a job, or going to school, or having a place to live.

And all this had taken him today and yesterday to find out with Willow's help - it would have taken longer if he'd had to go find the physical documents... this is one situation in which he will accept that computers may indeed make certain things take less time. 

The thing is, the boy also has the bare minimum documents, but he has no record of any parentage whatsoever, just the papers that the school has and the note that his guardian is also Peter Tate since his mother was deemed unfit for childcare (and there's no mention of his father whatsoever, which is suspicious in and of itself, unless he'd been living with his mother because she was the one that won custody, or he'd never known his father, or his father was dead, there were too many options), that was all there was. 

Giles let out a frustrated sigh, and the doors to the library opened at the same time. 

He closed the printed-out documents and placed them under some other files, and moved into the main library, wondering which teenager had decided to visit this time.

It wasn't a teenager, thankfully (because Giles can only stand so much time around children, truthfully). Unfortunately, it was the new teacher; one Peter Tate. 

The man looked around the room, and Giles winced as his eyes passed over the cage; one of the antiques was still out... he must have forgotten to put it away due to his preoccupation with the research on the three new people. 

"Hello." He says, "I'm the new teacher, Peter Tate. You must be the librarian - Rupert Giles, was it?"

Giles nodded, smiled in greeting and held out his hand. "That would be me. Good to meet you." 

The other man shook his hand, and stood back, took in the library. "Please, call me Peter," He said, smoothly. "This seems like a decent set of books." 'Peter' comments. 

Giles' smile is strained. "Yes. Some of them are quite old, and many I brought over from my family's collection back home."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "These are all yours?"

"No," Giles disagrees. "Just some of them. The majority in the front shelves are the school's textbooks." 

Peter nods, stalks over to the shelves at the base of the library. He picks up a random tome, and flicks through it absently. 

"Interesting topic," He muses. "Is there a lot of this fiction here? I wouldn't mind borrowing a few books, it seems... interesting."

Giles coughs, and cleans his glasses.  _Fiction indeed._

"Yes - well, I suppose there's nothing that says books can't be leant to teachers." He allows. "The school's policy is no more than five at a time, however." 

Peter nods. "A pity," He says, and puts the book he was holding back, having flicked to the end. His eyes scan the room, and land back on the antique sword propped up in the cage. 

"I was wondering what that was for." He indicates the sword. 

Giles forces back a grimace. "A simple prop; they keep a fair few fake weapons in here from time to time." 

"Doesn't look fake to me," Peter disagrees. "Rather genuine, actually. But regardless, I should probably get going. Leah is rather bad at cooking and Stiles, while better, has probably forgotten all about food." He offers a civil smile to Giles. It doesn't reach his eyes, and neither does Giles' own returned one. 

"I'll be back tomorrow," Peter promises. "To borrow some of this rather interesting...  _fiction,_ of yours." 

The man leaves the room, and Giles narrows his eyes. 

He knows something, Giles thinks. And Giles has a hunch that 'Peter' doesn't have the usual motives of a decent human being. 

* * *

The Bronze is loud, as per usual, and Buffy's senses are going haywire, so she tunes them out. When she doesn't, it makes her antsy and reckless, and right now Buffy can't afford that - not when she's looking for some vampires to stake. 

Faith looks lively, and Buffy knows that the girl never tunes out her Slayer instincts. Not if she can help it, and Buffy wonders what that's like. Because Buffy does that at school, a lot of the time, and at the Bronze, and in pretty much any place that's full of people, indoors or at night. Slayer senses can be pretty overwhelming, and Buffy doesn't know how Faith has managed to deal with that without having to tune it all out at least once.

"I'm gonna go grab us a drink," Faith says, close to Buffy to be heard above the noise. "You go up, scout the floor from above, I'll mingle, yeah?"

This is how they've been doing things, when out patrolling. Faith mingles and uses her senses, and Buffy observes, finds a vampire, and goes down, notifies Faith, who takes her vamp outside as Buffy does the same with hers. They fight, the Slayers win, and they go back to the graveyard, stake any stragglers, then go their separate ways home. 

"I think it's time to find some girl vamps. We leave too many of those wandering the streets, yeah?" Faith says. Buffy has no idea how she'd get one outside, but she shrugs, since Faith has said this many times before but still ended up finding and fighting a guy vamp. "Sure," Buffy says - knowing that at least for herself, that won't happen regardless of her intentions. It looks to be that the Bronze generally has a higher male vamp population that female vamp, weirdly. 

Faith slinks away, and Buffy climbs the stairs and leans on the balcony, scours the dance floor for signs of vampire activity. 

Slowly, so it's not a sudden rush, Buffy tunes into her Slayer senses as she looks around. It takes a moment or two, but she soon spots a guy in a bright freaking orange shirt with semi-normal hair chatting up a blonde chick. 

Concentrating, Buffy gets that the guy is the vamp, and is weirdly relieved for that. Frowning, she shakes her head and moves on. Buffy descends the stairs quietly and quickly, passes past people on the dance floor and ignores roaming eyes and flirty remarks. On her way, she taps Faith on the shoulder and makes eye contact for a second, (the vamp she's found is some blond teen with green eyes and a god awful jacket), and moves past, saying sorry as if she'd accidentally bumped into the girl.

After that, she makes her way towards the vamp, who is currently sitting alone - Buffy spies the girl walking off in the direction of the bar and guesses that she's gone to get drinks. 

Buffy pretends to have been dancing, slides into the seat next to the dark-haired, orange shirted vamp. "Sorry," She 'pants', pretending to crack her neck and in the process showing it to him. "Hope you don't mind me sitting here." 

He grins at her, and if she ignores the terrible shirt and semi-awful hair she can  _maybe_ see the appeal. "That's fine." He says - no awkward pet name or flirty remark; it might be more difficult to change his sights from the other girl than she'd thought. 

Or not, Buffy thinks, as the girl sees them, sighs, and walks off with her drinks. Score. 

"You come here often?" He says - having also seen his previous prey wander off, he'd obviously decided that she might as well do.

Ugh. Second best vampire food, how low can you get? Thank god she's a Slayer, this would be the worst way to go. 

She smiles at him, nods. "Yeah. Something about the atmosphere, it's a great place."

He agrees, slides his hand over and with a mental shudder she makes her smile turn more flirty. "And the men are cute, too."

He smirks, and nods to the door. "Wanna have some fun?"

She tilts her head, blinks, and shrugs. "Sure, " Buffy says, a sour taste in her mouth. "Why not?"

This is the act she hates - pretending to be the party-goer who has 'fun' with lots of people, because that isn't really her, and there are other Sunnydale high students that come here, and probably see this, and she kinda hates that a lot. 

She turns her arm over and takes his hand, winks at him, and leads the way. Across the room, she spies Faith exiting the bar through the same door, catches her eye for a moment.

Faith smiles and exits hastily, and Buffy ups her pace subtly. 

It doesn't take long to cross the dance floor, and the vamp seems a little impatient. She smirks at him, pretending to think that it's because she knows he can't wait to 'have fun', but it's actually because this is the last time he preys on people ever again, which is a good thought. 

Cleaning up the supernatural streets, that's Buffy's job. It's great; twenty-four-seven and no pay, she couldn't ask for anything better.

Except, you know, pay and vacation time. That would be nice. 

The two reach the door, and before he can say anything about the violent sounds coming from behind it, she pushes him through with - to the vamp - surprising strength. Buffy enters and immediately doges a punch thrown her way (sloppy; he's not used to fighting his prey) and grabs it, twists his arm and throws him down on the floor. 

"Atta girl B." Faith calls - leaning against a wall, dust on the floor at her feet. Damn, she got hers first. 

The vampire on the floor groans. 

"What the hell, lady?" He says, and Buffy raises an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?" She demands. A dawning look breaks out on his face as he gets a proper look at the two of them - horror becoming his main emotion. 

"Ah, shit." He says. "Slayers." 

Faith smirks and Buffy kicks him in the groin before staking him, so he can't try anything. 

Buffy doesn't really feel like quips tonight, so she doesn't make one, and the body crumbles to dust as she stands. 

"No snark today B?" Faith asks, and Buffy shrugs. "Nah." She frowns down at the dust, kicks it. "Not worth one."

Faith stands straight, and walks over. "Well," She muses. "I guess you're not in the best mood then?" 

Buffy's frown stays. "There's still more out there," She responds - doesn't reply, ignores the question. 

Faith nods. "That there are." She agrees, acknowledges the ignoring of her question and saves it for later. 

Buffy looks up to Faith, sighs. "We  _should_ probably go find some more newbies to stake."

"Graveyard time?" Faith asks, and Buffy nods. "Sure," Faith agrees readily, "I'll bring the chips."

* * *

"I don't know where they went." Scott says. "I don't know when they went, or _why -"_ Here, his voice cracks, and he stops, before continuing, "- or where, and-" Scott actually growls, frustrated with himself. 

"Scott," Lydia says, soft - places a comforting hand on his shoulder. "They couldn't have gotten far, Scott. We'll find them." 

"It's only been a few days," Theo agrees. "They're probably not even out of California yet." 

Scott looks down at the map. "Derek, Braeden and Cora haven't seen them," He starts listing. "Obviously they aren't in Europe but regardless, Jackson and Chris and Isaac promised to keep an eye out. No matter how reluctantly on two of their parts." Scott sighed. "But that's it." He frowned, eyes tracing the road out of California. 

"There's not many places for them to stay at." Liam pointed out. "We could treat it like, uh, Mexico, right? And all go hunting for them?"

Scott closed his eyes, sighed. "That would take too long. There are enough places in even just Beacon County for them to have stopped at, we'd have to go through them all one by one and it just wouldn't be feasible."

"So what, we're just gonna let them run?" Liam demanded, and Lydia frowned at him. "Liam," She said, and he sighed. "I know it's not - sorry, Scott." He sighed, frustrated, angry. "I just -" He cut himself off, stared down at the map.

"We're scared for them, we all are." Lydia said. "But we  _will_ find them."

 _'We have to'_ goes unsaid. 

"If anyone can look after themselves, it's Stiles and Malia," Theo says. Scott swallows, closes his eyes. 

"You're right." He says. "You're both right."

Lydia makes a decision. She takes a dart from the table, and throws it onto the map. 

"Nothing." She sighed, frowning. "Just the exit road from Cali."

"We might as well look." Mason said, understanding. "Who knows, there could be like, a ghost motel or something."

They shared glances. "Yeah." Scott said, finally. "The last thing we try before we get the Sheriff to put out an APB on them. Theo, I know this is a lot to ask-" 

Theo smiles. "It's fine, Scott; you need to stay as Alpha of the territory. All of you do - you're stronger as a pack, and the Dread Doctors, not to mention the Beast and the Chimeras are still a problem. I'll find them, don't worry."

Scott offers a strained smile. "Thanks, Theo."

There's an odd glint in Theo's eyes. "Don't mention it." 

He smiles at them, charming - and Lydia, for some inexplicable reason, suddenly feels more worried than she had before.

 _I hope they'll be okay._ She thinks.  _And that Theo gets them home safely._

They need them home. They all do.

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally seen the rest of the TW characters now, haven't we? Now I gotta go change the tags tho, damn.


	9. Interlude #1: A Motel, Thankfully Not That One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Motel in California, but thankfully not a horror movie. Unless you count the horrifically high prices and terrifying state of the bathrooms, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The POV of this chapter is half OC and half Theo, so warning for that asshole and the OC, who is literally just here for the chapter and then will probably never show up ever again.

Sarah Donovan was not having a good few days. It all started about two days ago, when she was on desk duty for the night shift. She'd seen a baby-blue jeep that wouldn't have looked out of place in her family photos from the eighties drive past above the speed limit, and she'd been about to go out to the payphone (yes, they have a payphone, shut up) and call the cops, but  _nope,_ she was not touching that with a ten foot freaking pole. 

Because, you see, the car had done...  _something._ Before it did that something, she'd caught a glimpse of the two adults inside (but what with Beacon County being so close, she was never really sure about people's ages... half the fourteen year olds there looked in their mid twenties, for Christ's sake) consisting of a pale man with dark hair and a tanned girl with short-cropped light-ish brown hair. 

Then, the  _thing_ happened. The thing where the jeep seemed to glitch, seemed to shift and change and suddenly with a pop and not a bang it was just - gone. Like it had hit some rift in space or some shit, and fallen through it.

So yes. Sarah was  _not_ having a good few days, because she was busy wondering whether or not she'd gone bat-shit crazy. The night-shift might've been so dull that she hallucinated the whole event just so  _something_ happened. 

If that's the case, she's definitely never doing that again,  _hell_ no. 

This day had been shaping up better than the last, however. Firstly, there had been customers, which was a nice change, and the night shift had been given to Tommy so she got to sit around in the air-conned front room, reading a book she'd snatched from her aunt's office. 

Family run Motel, this was. Gah, Sarah really wanted to get out of this place. 

A massive-ass car pulled, up, black and (in her opinion) suspicious-looking. 

Great. Please don't disappear into thin air. 

Thankfully, the car did as she asked. Unfortunately, that meant she'd have to help a customer. Sighing, Sarah deposited her book onto the desk and sat up straight, looked at the door expectantly. 

It swung open, doing that little ding thing to the bell above it, and a guy entered. He was pretty cute, she registered - but again,  _age._ And she definitely did not trust his choice in car, so she mentally frowned at him. 

"Hello." She said, instead of waiting for him to address her. Get it out of the way and the like. "How may I help you? Room, or Directions? There's a coffee lounge just down the hall if you're here for a break from driving."

People tended to use their Motel as a rest stop, not a place to stay at long. It was how they got away with so few rooms, and having them be as... not great, as they did. They didn't really want long term customers, after all. 

He smiled charmingly, and she  _knew_ that smile. It was the one her aunt used when selling business ideas to Phil, when trying to charm customers and when wanting something to go her way. 

Sarah did not trust that smile.

"I was wondering if these two people stopped by here recently." The man (? Boy? Teen? Young adult?) asked, holding out a photo.

Sarah frowned at it, then truly registered what she was looking at and nearly dropped the damn thing.

_That was the jeep._

It was unmistakable, really. Pale blue and old and slightly run-down, that was definitely the jeep she'd seen the other night. And that was the couple - for it was obvious they were a couple, especially in this photo - a candid shot of them talking outside the car, standing close and looking a little serious.

Vaguely, Sarah wondered why everyone from that area had to be so unfairly attractive, before she focused on the problem at hand.

_These were the people._

The girl's hair was a tad different - a little longer, maybe, blonde highlights throughout - and the boy looked less tired. She gathered their age from the sign for a high school in the back, and wished for the thousandth time that she wasn't home-schooled.  

Motel-schooled. Whatever. She's prepared a winning speech for why she should go to college rather than take online courses; Sarah's got this sorted. 

"I - I've seen them." She admits, says slowly. Sarah's not sure she trusts this guy, but that's also the reason she tells him. 

Self-preservation. 

He smile becomes slightly more genuine and she relaxes. "That's good," He says and sounds relieved. "Did they stay or?"

Sarah opens her mouth to say they continued down the exit road, but stops herself, because that's not really true, and he does at least seem concerned for these people. 

Maybe they're friends, she thinks, and immediately feels bad about nearly lying to him.

"You won't believe me." She admits.

"Try me." The guy says, and she doesn't know his name.

Part of her thinks _maybe that's for the best._

"Alright." Sarah says. "... they disappeared." She admits. "Just down the road a ways, but still able to be seen from the payphone." Sarah pauses. "It was - like they'd gone through some rift in space or something." 

When he doesn't respond, Sarah can almost feel the mocking coming on, or the saddened  _why did you do this these are my friends_ that she's truly dreading, but he just looks.... curious. Concerned, yes, but curious.

"Huh." The teen - she figures he's about the same age as the two - says. "Well then."

And with that, the guy leaves. 

Sarah huffs,  _rude,_ and grabs her book, settles down.

_She's had a really bad three days._

* * *

 

A rift, Theo muses, was not what he was expecting.

It was, however, a _perfect_ situation. The two of them being on the run was already perfect, Theo allows, but this is even _better._

Because they're not exactly going to be able to interfere from another dimension, and when he wants to get them in his pack he can do so after Scott's been... dealt with, and honestly this just makes things easier; not having to worry about the two weak links in his plan. 

Although...

Theo leaves his car in the parking lot (Since he's planning on coming back for it) and wanders over to the pay phone, frowns up and down the road and scans for any visual inconsistency.

Knowing it's stupid but also knowing there are, for some reason, no cars around right now, Theo wanders into the road and looks straight left, sees nothing, straight right and -

_What's that?_

Theo wanders down the road a bit, curious, and sees it easier from this distance. Shifting slightly, the world becomes shades of red but that strange mirage solidifies and - 

_Well, that's interesting._

Theo reduces the shift, and leaves the road, moves to his car. 

_Very interesting._

He sits in the driver's seat and wonders - 

_Wouldn't it just be easier to let Beacon Hills take care of Scott for me?_

Because Theo... he knows - or at least, thinks he does - that he can beat Scott in one-on-one, if only because Scott wouldn't be fighting to kill. But if he never has to bloody his hands, if he has plausible deniability - 

It'll be easier to gain the trust of the weak links, Theo knows. He knows for a fact that Stiles will never, ever trust him in any way, especially not in a pack sense, if the seventeen-year-old ever finds out about Theo wanting to kill Scott, so he can't imagine it would be any easier if he actually  _does._

And Malia, while not distrusting (thanks to the coyote in him) definitely doesn't like him. 

Killing Scott personally won't help matters. 

Theo turns the ignition, turns the car around and pauses before going onto the road. 

_Left, or Right?_

_The plan (which has more holes than mosquito netting) or..._

_Ah, screw it._

Theo puts the car into gear, and goes right. 

This can only go well, after all. Killing Scott personally would make things so very  _difficult,_ even if he truly wants to watch the life leave his eyes. 

He's always had what Theo's wanted. Theo wants, for once, to have what Scott himself lost.

_And all because of me._

The smirk he leaves with isn't seen, and the girl who'd followed him out of the store sighed as she watched the car  _pop_ and glitch out of existence. 

"Not a good day." She says, firmly, spins around and stalks back into the Motel. 

* * *

"He's caught their trail." Scott says. "He texted me a few minutes back. He's following it now."

"And?" Lydia said. "It's unlikely we'll hear from him for a while." Scott says. "But this is good news, right?" 

Scott seems desperate, so Lydia nods, but she can't shake that foreboding feeling in her gut. 

(At least her throat isn't hurting. She  _really_ doesn't want to scream.)

* * *

 

 


	10. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Slayerfest's in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finalllyyyy onto an actual episoddeee-

Malia looked around, and groaned in annoyance.

"I'll keep bringing you here until Stiles deals with me." The shadow points out. "Just a couple of questions, and then I'll be out of your hair." He wheedled, smirking. 

Malia sat up, noting that the go board was gone from the Nemeton, and stared across at him. 

"Look," she said, sighing, "I'm just trying to find the best time to bring it up, okay?"

"You should probably deal with Their effects on - on him first." He says, "Since Stiles won't accept what happened with Donovan or my existence until he understands that none of what happened was his fault."

"I don't think he ever will." Malia admitted. "So I'm just... waiting for the right moment, alright?"

Void's lips twisted, and Malia winced, slightly. The other came over and sat on the stump next to her.

"I don't want to get any more of his shit." He says. "Nor does he want me to take over whenever something happens. It'd be best if you got him to open up before anything... bad... happens."

Malia narrowed her eyes at him, but Void just smirked. "Rise and shine, Mal."

Malia woke up.

* * *

"Apparently Homecoming is coming up soon." Stiles said, as Malia blinked herself awake. "Which is honestly something I haven't thought about at all. What with everything that's happened over the years."

Malia sat up, groggily. "I don't suppose there's any coffee?" She asked, stretching then standing. 

"Yep," Stiles nodded. "I got the kitchen set up last night... couldn't sleep."

Malia, a little disturbed by this - it meant that the Jungian shadow guy could take her into Stiles' mindspace thing whenever he wanted if she was sleeping - turned around to grab some clothes, in part so that Stiles wouldn't notice the frown on her face. 

"Yeah, I didn't sleep well." Malia murmured. "Not the best night all around, eh?"

"Not really." Stiles said, drily. "Peter's already gone to the school."

Malia nodded, adjusted her top before turning around. "Alright. Let's eat, then."

* * *

"...think we should see each other anymore."

Stiles and Malia, were, admittedly, a little bit lost. They weren't exactly sure where their next class was (and, to be honest, didn't really care if they missed it) so they were just wandering around the hallways trying (at least a little) to find it. 

That's when they came across this mess.

"You don't? When did this happen - where was I?" 

Stiles glanced at Malia, who was grimacing. They stayed back but in sight, and the teen talking to Buffy glanced at them before carrying on.

"Buffy, it's just... Before we were going out, you, you seemed so... full of life, like a force of nature. Now you just seem distracted all the time, and..."

Buffy interrupted, and the two onlookers winced. This was not going well. 

"Yeah, I know, it's... I'm getting better. Honest." Buffy then appeared to try for humour, which - well, that really didn't seem like it would help, though Malia supposes she's just trying to deescalate the obvious tension. "In fact, from here on, you are gonna see a drastic distraction reduction." 

The other teen just sort of stands there, and this is a scene that feels really awkward to be casually observing. 

Buffy tried for humour again, tried to stop this from happening, but with an "I'm sorry." The other teen walked off. 

"Sorry about this." Malia says. "We probably should have just left, but..."

Buffy turns to them, as if she hadn't noticed them being there - surprise on her face. "Oh! You - you saw that." She states, perhaps embarrassed. "Yeah." Stiles says. Malia notes that buffy's chemo signals are all sad-smelling, and offers a small smile. "The yearbook photos are gonna be on soon."

Buffy grimaces. "Right, yeah." She pauses. "Let's - go do that, then."

Stiles nods, and the two follow Buffy off to wherever the photos are being taken. 

* * *

Buffy goes into the lounge, and Malia and Stiles don't follow. 

"Probably best we don't get ours taken." Stiles says, hand on Malia's elbow as if to stall her from going in."

Malia pauses, considering, and sighs, nodding. "Yeah, you're right."

The two wait outside, and after a moment, Willow, Xander, and Buffy exit the room. 

"You have to help me pick out an outfit," Willow says to her friends. "I wanna wear something that makes Oz go 'Oh'." She grins, and Buffy offers a strained smile. 

"Well, I don't have anything." Malia says, joining into the conversation. "Mind if I borrow something?" She asked, nodding to the other two in greeting.

"Of course!" Willow says, smiling. "You can come over, I've got plenty." Her smile dims a little. "Though none of it's that great..."

"I'm sure that's not true." Buffy says. " _I_ am going to wear something that makes Scott _wish_ he hadn't broken up with me."

"So that was his name." Stiles mutters. 

The five continue down the hall a ways, making the two new additions wonder where they're going, before they reach Cordelia. 

"Whatcha doin'?" Xander asks, and Cordelia startles then turns to face them. "Checking out the I-laughingly-use-the-phrase 'Competition'." She responds, glancing up and down the list with slight disdain. 

Oz arrives as Cordelia spies one of the girls running for homecoming queen and starts explaining why she won't win. "Holly Charleston; nice girl, brain dead, doesn't have a prayer."

"So you've got it in the bag, then?" Stiles says drily. The girl's  _winning_ personality will surely help rather than hinder. 

Cordelia scoffs. "Of course."

"Where's Faith?" Buffy suddenly asks, glancing around.

"In the library. Training." Cordelia says, absently, as she looks around, then mutters. "Michelle Blake; open to all mankind, especially those with a letterman's jacket and a car." She glances at Xander and folds her arms. "She could give me a run," She admits with a little concern. Xander pats her shoulder comfortingly, though the both of them roll their eyes at this. 

"Right." Buffy says, ignoring the part about Michelle. "I should probably be doing that."

"Well, at least you didn't miss the photos," Willow points out, and Buffy nods. "Yeah, true. See you guys."

* * *

The rest of the day up until lunch is pretty standard for a school day, which is something neither beacon hills resident has had for a long time, and so they're really quite grateful for that. 

When they look for a seat, since the majority seem to be taken, they get waved over by Willow and, shrugging, go take a seat at the scoobies' table. 

"Hi!" She chirps. 

Malia smiles in greeting, and Stiles responds in kind, before starting to eat. 

" _Hi. I hope you'll consider me for homecoming queen."_ Malia glances about, and sees Cordelia chatting up some people in order to get votes. Rolling her eyes, she returns her focus to her food.

"I can't believe it." Buffy says, disbelieving. "My favourite teacher, and she didn't even remember who I was. I'm like a non-person." Stiles raises an eyebrow at her, but she doesn't notice and turns to Oz. "Am I invisible?" She waves her hand in front of his face. "Can you see me?"

"Big as life," Oz assures her, as Willow nods vigorously. 

"At Hemery," Buffy starts, "I was the Prom Princess, Fiesta Queen. I was on the cheerleading squad. The yearbook was practically a story about me. Now, I'll just be one crappy picture on one eighth of an equally crappy page."

"Hey," Malia says. "So will the rest of us."

Buffy blinks and winces, then shakes her head. "Still." She says. "I just..." Buffy trails off, frowning into the distance. 

"You could always run for homecoming queen." Stiles says, drily, not really paying attention. 

He glances up and sees everyone's focus suddenly zeroed in on him, and he cautiously looks around the table. "What?"

Buffy's eye light up, a little. "That's true." She says, "It can't be that difficult, I've done it before."

"Hello," Cordelia says, leaning down to the table with her hand on Xander's shoulder. "I assume you'll all be voting for me?"

There's an awkward pause. "... well, uh, yes." Xander says, shooting an apologetic glance at Buffy. "I mean; girlfriend, right?" 

"Good enough answer, Harris." She says, then glances around. "And the rest of you?"

Willow looks apologetically at Buffy. "Yeah..." She says. Buffy looks a little offended, and Willow winces, leans over.

 _"She needs it so much more than you,"_ The red-head says guiltily, before leaning back. 

"As Willow goes, so goes my nation." Oz says, nodding to Cordelia. 

She smiles winningly. "Great! Now, you two?" 

"What, us?" Stiles says. "We're not voting." He glances at Malia. "Right?"

Malia nods. "I'm not getting into this mess. We barely even know you guys."

Buffy inclines her head. "Well, at least you're not propping up the competition." Cordelia says. 

"Willow, I'd love if you could get a database up and running about who would vote for me, who wouldn't, etc. Xander, flyer duty. And Oz, would you get those that normally avoid all social situations to kindly put in my name?" 

Willow nodded miserably - obviously torn about her decision. "On it," Xander says, smiling thinly. 

"Right." Cordelia says, standing up straight. "Good." She walks off, strides over to another table and starts talking. 

"I'm going to win." Buffy says, determination clear on her face. 

* * *

"So, uh, this is my house." Willow says. 

Willow exits the jeep and nods towards the house in front. 

"Nice." Malia says. "Suburban." She turns and leans into Stiles for a quick kiss. "See you back home." She says and he nods. 

"Bye guys." Stiles says, and the other two say similar things, as he puts the car into gear and drives off. 

"So," Willow says awkwardly. "Let's go on up to my room, shall we?"

The three walk through the house and up into Willow's bedroom. "It's not much," She says, deprecatingly, "It hasn't changed a lot since I was little."

"It's nice." Malia says. "Homely. Lived-in."

Malia wanders over to a dresser. "So, in here?" 

"No, over there," Willow says, pointing to a screen. "I took out all my options and laid them out to choose from, even a few I would never use myself, in case they're more your kind of dress."

"Thanks." Malia says, walks over. Willow does the same, and grabs a blouse and a skirt. Malia looks over the pile for a moment, as Willow hides and gets changed. 

"What do you think of this?" Willow says, and Malia glances over.

Xander shrugs. "Nice." He says, as he adjusts his sleeves. 

"Not really the right style for a prom." Malia disagrees. "Maybe this one?" She hands over a black number, and Willow, after thanking her, takes it to try on. Malia glances over the pile once more and grabs a dress and a belt, then goes to try it on. 

"Woah," Xander says. "Gonna... go... be behind something?"

"I'm not going to be naked, you know." Malia says drily. "But fine."

Malia goes behind the screen and strips before putting the dress on. "This works," She says, "And that suits you much better, Willow."

Xander glances over and nods, distractedly, before looking back down and trying to tie his bow tie. 

Malia rolls her eyes and goes over, quickly fixing it for him. 

"It's my first big dance, you know?" Willow smiles, sits down on her bed. "Where there's a boy and a band and it's not just me pretending there's a boy and a band."

Malia sits down next to her. "Me too," She says. "Spent a long time in the woods; doesn't leave much room for things like prom."

Willow nods. "I just want it to be..."

"Special," Xander finishes for her. "That's why I spared no expense on the tux."

"Cordelia will appreciate that." Malia says. "You look good."

"Thanks." He says, smiling slightly. "I thought -" Willow starts, then glances at Malia and stops. 

"I borrowed it from my cousin?" Xander says drily. "Yeah; expense to my pride, Will."

"I don't see how borrowing clothes is bad." Malia says. "That's exactly what I'm doing now."

Willow smiles at seemingly nothing. Malia raises her eyebrow at her, and Willow extrapolates. "I just - this is so surreal, you know? The last formal event of our school lives. I remember back in the eighth grade, at that catillion, when Xander had that clip on bow tie." She giggles.

"Hey," Xander says, mock-affronted. "I happen to think I looked pretty stylin' in that clip-on."

Malia grins. 

"Well," She says, and the two look at her. "It's pretty late." She glances at Xander. "We should probably be getting to our respective homes." She says, and he nods. "Uh - yeah, right." He says. 

Malia rolls her eyes. "Or not," She says. "Any more embarrassing childhood stories?" She asks. 

"Not really," Willow giggles, then freezes. "Unless you can count this upcoming Homecoming as one, because I don't know if I can dance in this - or, or if I can dance at all!" 

Malia pats her shoulder. "Then go ask your boyfriend for practice if you're that worried."

Willow nods, shakily. "Right, yeah. That makes sense."

"Come on," Xander says. "It's a piece of cake." He reassures her. "Look, it's easy." Malia says." Place a hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist and he'll do the same in reverse, and then you sway on the spot for a few minutes if you're that nervous. You'll be fine."

Willow nods. "Yeah, you're right." She says. "The both of you. I'll be fine. Thanks." She smiles. 

"Really should be getting home..." Malia says, and Xander awkwardly nods. "Yeah, probably should. Cordelia'll be really pissed if we don't help with her campaign tomorrow because we didn't get any sleep."

Willow nods. "Yeah, I should finish off that database. See you guys at school tomorrow."

Malia nods and the two say goodbye before leaving.

* * *

"A campaign is like a war. It's won or lost in the trenches."

"That's a little dramatic, B." Faith says. "Being the Slayer is like a war. Winning a campaign is nowhere near as life threatening."

Buffy inclines her head. "True, but neither of us have ever tried to win a popularity contest without being popular."

Faith hops off the table. "I'd take Xander off as a weakness, and maybe mentally add Cordelia to his." She says, in lieu of agreeing to help. "Also why is brie a weakness?"

Buffy shrugs. "It smells?" She offers. "Nobody likes to vote for smelly people."

Faith snorts. "Alright then." She allows, scanning the board.

"Yeah, I don't know any of the rest of these people." "Then we're in the same boat," Buffy sighs, frowning. Abruptly, she groans, leans against the board. "God, I can't believe them."

"Look, B," Faith starts, turns and leans against the board in a more relaxed mirror of Buffy's position. "You and Cordelia are like night and day. Why are you even trying to win this - why do you want it so bad?"

"Because," Buffy says, exasperated, "I was her, back at Hemery. I was popular and I had friends and teachers knew me and people wanted to date me and it was just - easier, right? I was on the cheer squad, I was that prom princess and fiesta queen, I was a shoe in for Homecoming until all this Slayer stuff started going down and -"

Buffy stops herself, grimaces. "It's just that - is it so wrong for me to want some form of normalcy? To not just be a crappy picture on one eighth of a crappy page, but to be there, front and centre and be able to look back and say 'I was there.' What with being the slayer and all, I won't have that chance very often."

Faith inclines her head. "I guess I never really got all this stuff." She says. "Never did the whole high-school thing. Or any school, really." She shakes her head, cracks a smile. "But it can't be that hard to win at this, right?"

Buffy nods. "Yeah. I mean, I've done it before, multiple times. How difficult can it be?"

* * *

"Well this is a mess." Stiles says, frowning around the quad.

"I'm very glad we decided not to get involved." Malia mutters to him, glaring at the girls with flyers who try to come up to them. They back-track pretty quickly.

"It's all rather amusing. There's a lot of anxiety in the air, and fear, and petty anger." 

The two roll their eyes and turn to see Peter, who smiles 'charmingly' at them. "Hello, niece."

"Uncle." Malia returns, forced and obviously a little uncomfortable. 

"Apologies for the subject in class the other day." He says, smoothly. "If I'd have known someone in the class knew about Oak Creek, well, I wouldn't have done that until they were ill. We don't want to be found after all." He adds after the false apology, murmuring.

It was false because they could both see a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes. 

"Yeah." Stiles bites out. "What do you want, Peter?"

"Nothing untoward, Stiles" Peter assures. "Just to know if you were foolish enough to get your photos taken for the yearbook. That would be an easy way to track your movements, after all."

Stiles stiffens, realises that they're talking about this in the open. "No, of course not, and this really isn't the time or place, Peter."

Malia agrees, frowning at her 'uncle', and makes this obvious by voicing her assent. 

Peter smirks. "The question should really be how Stiles can hear me, since I'm just a teacher watching over the quad from the walkway, and he's far enough away that I'd have to raise my voice at least a small amount."

Peter turns and walks off, and Stiles  _stops._

"Alright, guess no time like the present." Malia says, annoyed.

"Come on," Malia grabs Stiles' elbow and guides him, "We need to talk."

_Fucking **finally.**_

_Oh, shut up,_  Malia returns mentally.

* * *

Malia looks around and then pushes Stiles into the library, then glances about and shoves him towards the stacks.

"Not exactly something we should talk about in easy hearing range," She murmurs to him, and continues guiding Stiles - who follows easily - towards the back rows. 

"As much as we rightfully hate Peter," Malia says, "We can't ignore what just happened, Stiles."

"Oh we totally can," Stiles says. "It's very, very easy. I've done it a lot of times, we're cool. Can we go now?" Stiles looks more than a little nervous - anxious, and maybe even a little scared. 

Malia can't scent him, she realises, and carefully tries to keep the surprise out of her expression. 

"No." She says. "Of course not. Stiles, you need to deal with this, you can't just let it all be suppressed like you do."

"Of course I can." Stiles snaps, eyes flashing in a very human way; anger. "I can and I have and I will, because there's  _nothing,_ alright? I'm not like you or Scott or Lydia or - or anyone back in Beacon, alright? There's nothing, I'm nothing, let's go."

"You're not nothing." Malia disagrees, frowning at him. "And I would let you simmer for a bit until you were comfortable talking about all of this if it weren't for your shadow."

Stiles freezes. "What?" He asks - demands, rather - quietly, stares at her, into her eyes, as if searching for any trace of a lie. 

"The Jungian Shadow." She extrapolates. "That part of you which contains all the bits you don't like or can't accept about yourself and gets worse the more you don't see what it contains in the whole person. Personality traits are usually what it contains, but this is  _us,_ Stiles." She sounds exasperated. "You've lived through enough for it to have become something more than that."

Stiles' hand - the one she's not grasping - tightens on nothing, knuckles white, bitten, short nails probably digging into his palm. 

_Show him._

Malia blinks.  _What?_

_Bring him in here. You'll both be knocked out for the whole thing, it'll be private, and he can't run away if it gets too hard for him._

_I don't want to push too much,_ Malia thinks back. 

_Fine. He can't leave unless you agree it's time for you both to leave._

Malia looks at Stiles, thinks and says  _fine._

_Good._

Malia's eyes roll into the back of her head, and the two collapse to the floor, unconscious

* * *

"Ow." Stiles says, sitting up. Malia grunts, feeling as always a little groggy after waking in the room.

"That didn't hurt even a little, Stiles." A voice, eerily similar to Stiles' but not quite the same replies. "I would know." 

Stiles' head snaps in the direction of the other voice, and Malia grabs his arm to stop him, just in case. 

"Smart," Void says, nodding. "He's scared and angry, which is never a good combination."

"Where are we?" Stiles asks him. "I'm guessing you're that Jungian Shadow?" Stiles spits out, glaring across the white space.

"Oh, you know where we are," The shadow says. "You've been here so many more times than most people ever get to. And yes, you would be correct." The shadow flashes a smile, that, for a moment, Malia could have sworn was silver-lined. Stiles' demeanour changes abruptly - cautious to angry, all over again, and Malia knows he saw it too. 

Her grip tightens. 

"That shared subconscious Deaton put us in." Stiles says.

"Yes," It smirks. "But it's a  _shared_ subconscious. And you can't just create any old one, you have to use an existing one. You were in the centre bath because Deaton wanted to use yours. He could have used Scott's because of your individual connections to him being stronger, but I think he must have known about the nogitsune. It didn't have an easy access to Allison, so the only other options were you or Lydia. You fit more, and so here we are."

"But Lydia isn't human. Not exactly." Malia inclines her head, and watches the discussion. The answers might be enlightening for things that she missed. 

"Oh really?" Void asks, amused. "I'm sure she'd love to know you think that."

Stiles frowns at him. "I'm not saying she isn't  _human,_ I'm saying she isn't human. There's a difference."

"Oh, I know." The other returns, smirking. "Most people don't think about that difference."

Stiles inclines his head, looks around. "Why is it still here?" He asks, tapping the Nemeton.

"I don't know." The shadow admits easily, the slightest of frowns on his face. "It should have left when we got here, but it's roots are still buried in your head, it seems."

"So, what, I anchor it to this reality?" Stiles mocks. "Well, in a way." Void muses, ignoring the mocking and answering the question seriously. "It's also what brought you here. Don't you think it's odd that you've never seen Sunnydale on a map before?"

There's a pause. "Of course I did." Stiles said, finally. "But it just seemed so convenient and I was tired, so I didn't question it."

"And like everything else, your actual feelings about the whole thing went to me."

"Why?" Stiles demanded. "Because that's how your subconscious deals with things; it suppresses them so that you don't have to." Void explains. "Which stops being fine after the first thing it does that for and starts being worrying after the third."

"I don't have that many bad memories, surely."

"Not all of it's memories," He responds, frowning at Stiles. "Malia's right, you know. There's something... _preternatural,_ about me." 

"Like Lydia." Stiles says. "Malia, Scott."

"I'd say Lydia was more supernatural than preternatural," Void says. "What with a banshee's relationship with the wild hunt, and a few other things."

"The wild hunt?" Stiles asks. "Riders on a storm?" 

Malia raises an eyebrow and Stiles shrugs. "It's a song," He explains, then turns to the other. "What do they have to do with anything?"

"Nothing as of yet." Void says. "There are other currently more important things to discuss."

"Such as?" Stiles asks, warily. 

"This." Void says, then pulls up his sleeve.

Stiles hisses in pain, grabs onto the same spot on his arm and - 

Stares. 

"What the  _fuck?"_ He asks, and Void - just smirks. 

"You don't think a leftover link between the two of you would have done nothing?"

"I thought that thing was slowly killing me." Stiles returned. "It's gone, anyway, so what's up with -  _that?"_ He asks, demands, glaring at the other's arm. 

"The link was open enough and large enough due to proximity that something slid right on through when They weren't monitoring it."

"... It's still there, isn't it?" Stiles asks rhetorically, resigned. 

"Because I'm here." The other returns. "Once you accept all the things I am then I'll go and the door will close. It's that simple."

 _"It's not that simple."_ Stiles snaps back, pulls up his own sleeve and scowls, yanks it down. 

"You didn't kill Donovan," the shadow starts, not pulling any punches. "You watched him die when you thought you could have done something.  _That's_ what you feel guilt for - not doing something to stop his death, not trying because, in the end, you didn't really want to."

Stiles stiffens. Malia frowns at the other, who shrugs. "It needed to be said." He says, and then -

"Their actions were not your fault." Void continues. "He did whatever She wanted to do, we - I - you - neither of us could have done anything to change that."

Stiles frowns at him, says "I know that" With no real conviction. "You don't really believe it though, because of what They made you feel during that time."

"They didn't make me feel anything." Stiles says. "That was all me."

"At first." Void allows. "When you were screaming for them not to hurt your friends, family, people you barely know." He nods. "Sure. But he wore you down, over time, as she always does, and eventually it was just easier to enjoy it than to fight, because you could fight no longer."

"Why are you saying all of this?" Stiles asks, resigned. 

"Because you need to understand that whatever powers transferred upon defeating him aren't inherently evil."

"But I don't want them if there are any, and I don't need them." Stiles says.

"You have the abilities of a magically inclined human, in a world where your known magic will do jack shit." Void says, bluntly. "Do you want to die via vampire bite or something more disgusting, or would you want to be able to protect yourself? Some of the things seep through during times of intense emotion, and during times when you nope out of the situation I take over. It's not a fun situation for either of us, especially since neither of us are huge fans of possession." 

Stiles nods stiffly, but doesn't seem hugely happy about all of this. 

"So what's the point of this?"

"To make you aware." Void says, frowning at him. "Obviously. And to do  _this."_

Void dives at the two of them, and everything goes black.

* * *

"... The worst thing to happen, ever!" 

Malia frowns, gets up off the floor and grabs Stiles by the arm, hauls him up to standing. 

"Willow?" She calls out, and Stiles is still unconscious, which isn't exactly the best thing, but she allows it and walks out of the stacks, drops him in a chair.

Willow and Xander stare at them. "What?" Malia asks. "He passed out. Does that a lot, it's probably not healthy."

"Probably?" Willow squeaks, then goes over to the computer, momentarily forgetting about whatever she was talking to Xander about. "I'll see if I can find something on that."

"It's fine." Malia says. "It's uh... you know." She flashes her eyes, bright-blue. "Supernaturally inclined."

"Oh." Willow relaxes. "Oh, okay." She turns around, then continues her tirade from before.

"What are we gonna do?" Willow whines. "I mean, we have to do  _something,_ this is all our fault."

"Why not split the votes?" Stiles says drily. "You vote for Buffy, Xander votes for Cordelia, Oz votes for nobody, we vote for nobody, let the student body decide."

Malia looks back at the chair. "Oh, you're up." Stiles flashes a smile her way, then looks back to the others.

"That's not very honest, though." Willow says, conflicted. "It'd give them a vote each from the group." Malia points out, and Xander seems to agree. Willow looks troubled. "Why are you talking about this in the main area of the library, anyway?" Stiles adds.

"Oh, Buffy and Cordelia just had... the worst fight, and it made me feel really bad," Willow admits. "Like what we chose to do is letting this happen. I had to get this off my chest."

"It might be." Stiles says, "Or it might not. They don't seem to like each other very much."

Willow nods. "I don't really like Cordelia very much," She says, looking apologetically at Xander, "She's actually pretty mean."

"Crazy Freak and Vapid Whore come to mind as the insults the two used against each other in the fight they just had," Xander informs them. "Buffy wasn't exactly being nice either."

Stiles grimaces. "To the right people, they can be pretty cutting insults."

Willow nods miserably. "Exactly."

"I don't think I've ever seen Buffy so mean." Xander muses. "There must be a reason for it, right?"

"Yeah. It's called being caught up in the moment and retaliating against an insult to her sanity." Stiles says drily. "If Cordelia was the one to say it first." 

Xander winces and nods. 

"Neither of them are being all that great, from what I've seen." Malia says. "My bets are that someone else'll get the crown."

Willow blinks at her. "But Cordelia is really popular -"

"Was really popular," Xander mutters, wincing. 

"- and Buffy's really nice," She continues, "So I don't see why the wouldn't win."

Malia shrugs. "Well, what do I know?" She asked. 

"Classes are over, right?" Stiles asks, glancing outside. 

"Yeah," Willow says. "Where were you anyway?" 

"Skipping." Malia says drily. "We have history today, and - well..."

Stiles winces and looks away. "Oh," Willow says quietly. "Yeah, okay."

Xander shrugs. "Well, since Homecoming's tonight and _still_ have homework, we should probably get going."

There's a pause. "Not that I'm going to do it." Xander adds. "I just don't want to stay in school."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Right." He says. "Can I come over?" Malia asks Willow. "I need to borrow the dress..." 

"Oh!" Willow says, as if remembering. "Yes, of course."

Malia nods. She looks back at Stiles. "You'll pick me up then?" 

"Obviously." Stiles says drily. "Unless you asked someone other than your boyfriend to the dance."

She snorts, grins, and gives him a quick kiss before leaving the library, Willow following behind.

"Well, see you at the Homecoming." Stiles says. "I'd say tell Cordelia good luck, but then she'd probably be offended at the idea that she'd need it."

Xander grimaces, nods and says goodbye, then leaves.

Stiles leaves shortly after.

* * *

The homecoming dance is alright, Stiles thinks. Better than the winter formal back in Beacon... which was the last formal dance they had, thinking on it.

Probably because of what happened to Lydia that night, He thinks, and then glances at Malia. 

She smiles at him and takes his hand, glances at the other two. "This isn't bad," She says. "I don't think I've heard it before."

Willow smiles, looking a little giddy. "He wrote it for me." She nods over to Oz. "Well that's sweet." Stiles says, looks over at Xander. "Where's your date?"

"I'm not sure," Xander says, slowly, then eats one of the finger sandwiches. "She, well, Cordelia and Buffy should be here by now."

"Maybe the limo got stuck in some traffic?" Willow offers, and Malia and Stiles look at each other, concerned. "Uh, so you put the two people who hate each other and could likely make each other not even want to come to the dance alone in a limo together?"

Willow nods, then says, "It was our best option. Friendships matter more than being Homecoming Queen."

At that, Faith emerges from the crowd. 

"None of you lot dancing?" She asks, and Willow nods to the band. "My dates making the music." She grinned. "I'm swaying along." 

"Mine's missing." Xander says, now looking a little concerned. 

"Hmm." Faith hums, brows furrowed. Before she can say anything about that, she spots someone over their shoulders. Stiles and Malia glance back - and see that it's Scott dancing with a girl they don't recognise. 

"Sleazebag!" Faith says, indicating Scott, then huffs and walks off. 

"I'll be right back," Malia says, then follows the slayer. Stiles nods after her and stays standing with the other two. 

Giles rushes up behind them, and says "We have to find Buffy, something terrible has happened." He doesn't give them long enough to start worrying, as he smiles and says "Just kidding. Thought I'd give you a scare."

Stiles rolls his eyes as the other two nod - Xander distracted by his girlfriend and friend being missing and Willow by the fact that the song being played was written for her.

"Are those finger sandwiches?" Giles asks and Xander nods, gestures to the table. "Yep."

* * *

"I'm guessing you're gonna lay one into Scott for what he did to your friend?" Malia says to Faith, who nods and strides on over to the teen in question. "You bet." She mutters, anger clear. 

Once they get to the two, Malia hangs back and Faith touches the couple, who pull apart. 

"Scott!" She says, overly sweet. "There you are, honey! Hey, good news. The doctor says the itching and the swelling and the burning should clear up." She smiles, places her hand on his chest. "But we gotta keep using the ointment."

Scott's date looks thoroughly bewildered, as Faith turns to look at her. "Hi," She says, then turns back to Scott and pulls him towards her by the lapels, before letting go and walking back to Malia. 

"Yikes." She mutters, grinning. "Your turn." Faith says, and Malia walks on over to the two. "Hi," She says to the girl, then turns to Scott. "Remember me?" She asks, then continues before he can say anything. "That was a really low blow, breaking up with Buffy the day after you asked her to the Homecoming Dance. Honestly, I'd be ashamed if I were you." She turns back to the other girl. "I overheard the thing about the ointment, by the way. Totally true, Buffy had to help with that on occasion, because she's just that nice sort of girlfriend, you know?" She returns her gaze to Scott. "Pity, you moving on from Buffy so quickly. I'd say you don't really care about your girlfriends, to be truthful." She pats him on the shoulder, then turns back to the other girl ."I'd get out while you can, before he breaks up with you on your birthday or something equally shitty. I hate to be honest, but you are just a rebound to him. I bet he asked you out either last minute or the same day he broke up with Buffy, and I bet he was really sweet - he was like that with Buffy, too." She looks back to Scott. "Did you vote for Buffy like you said you would, or?" 

Scott looks away, and the girl is starting to look angry. "Thought not." Malia says coldly, then walks off. 

"Nice." Faith says. "Embarrassment, and then the cold, hard truth." She grins. 

"One thing," Malia says, and Faith frowns at her. "Buffy and Cordelia haven't shown up yet, and I have this horrible feeling about that."

Faith nods slowly. "They should be here by now," She allows, "If they don't show up soon I'll go looking for them."

Malia nods. "Good." She smiles. "I'll go find Stiles and actually do some dancing, keep an eye out?"

"Yeah." Faith grins. "Have fun."

* * *

Faith wanders on into the school, cautiously. The two missing teens had been absent for what seems like a little too long, and so she'd decided that she might as well look for them, since there wasn't really anyone to dance with that interested her and nor was there anyone she wanted to talk to that wasn't dancing or missing their dates and thus moping around, so here she is, wandering the deserted halls of the school. 

Faith hears a roar (she registers that it sounds like a grown man shouting 'Candy!' which - what?) and breaks into a run, skidding to a halt outside the library and then throwing the doors open. 

There's dust on the floor and a cowboy vampire having a chat with Cordelia as Giles lies on the floor, unconscious. Faith notes that the teen appears to have it sorted, so she grabs Giles and drags him out of the way before turning to see if she's needed. 

Faith picks up a stake from where the weapons are stored. When the cowboy turns and sees her, he stops for a moment. 

"Surprise," She says, and stakes him.

Giles has by now woken up, and blinks from his seated position against the wall. 

Cordelia grins smugly, and Faith goes over to Buffy, carries her to a chair and lies her down more comfortably. 

"So." She says. "Wanna tell me what's going on, 'Queen' C?"

Cordelia raises an eyebrow at her, but starts talking regardless.

* * *

 

Buffy blinks to awareness, and Faith offers her a hand. "Hey B." She says. "How's the head?"

"Not bad." Buffy says, takes her hand and is helped to standing. "Thanks."

Giles is dealing with the mess made by the vampire duo, and Cordelia fills Buffy in on what she missed. 

"That'll teach him for mistaking you for a slayer."

"Not quite sure how they managed to think you're me." Faith says, drily. "I mean, didn't they have pictures?"

Buffy shrugs as Giles makes his way over. "I must admit to feeling partly responsible," He says, "I did give your friends tacit approval to make the switch in the limousine." 

"Aw, it's okay." Buffy reassures him. "It did give Cor and I a chance to spend Some quality death time." 

Faith snorts, then says, "I'm kinda mad I missed out on all the fun, though."

Buffy rolls her eyes fondly, before looking over to Giles. "Oh, that's nice," He says," Regarding the, ah, quality time, but I don't remember them mentioning corsages."

"I don't have one" Faith adds. "If we were gonna do the friend giving thing, You'd think I'd be remembered." She says, drily. 

Buffy suddenly pulls her's out and inspects it. "Jungle Bob did say the Germans were 'wired', didn't he?"

She finds inside the corsage a small transmitter.

"And their computer system? Is hooked into us." She shows the others the corsage.

Cordelia pulls off her corsage and hands it off to Buffy. "Oh god, get rid of these things!" She demands, obviously a little scared. 

"Giles, get some wet toilet paper," She says. 

"I have an idea." Faith nods. "Need my help?" 

"Probably best if we don't risk more than one life," Buffy says. "Go hide, all of you." 

Faith grimaces but nods, drags Cordelia into the stacks. Giles returns with the wet toilet paper, and Buffy thanks him, as he goes and hides in his office. 

Buffy runs out of the library, and it's an anxious few minutes before she returns. 

"It's done." She says. 

"What did you do?" Faith asks. "Confused their co-ordinates." Buffy admits. "I think they shot each other."

Faith nods, and Buffy calls for Giles. The four leave for the Bronze. 

* * *

"I'm gonna go with mud wresting." Oz says, and the other four turn to look at them.

"You were right." Faith says. "Danger's been dealt with." 

"Cordy!" Xander says, relieved, and goes over to her. "What happened?"

"It's a long story," Buffy says. Cordelia looks at her, rolls her eyes and says, "We got hunted."

Faith snorts. "Okay, apparently not that long," Buffy amends. Faith throws her arm around Buffy's shoulder and grins. "Something called the Slayerfest," She tells the others. "Not that important, all dead pretty much." She shrugs. "Same old, same old."

The group nods, as the guy at the mic starts talking. 

"In this envelope, I hold the name of this year's homecoming queen!"

"After all that we've been through tonight, this whole who's going to be queen thing seems..."

" pretty damn important." Buffy finishes. "oh yeah." Cordelia agrees. 

Malia shakes her head.

"Okay, I believe we have a first for sunnydale high - a tie!"

 _"It's not gonna be them."_ Malia murmurs to Stiles, who inclines his head. 

"The winners are Holly Charleston and Michelle Blake!"

Buffy and Cordelia look incredibly disbelieving. 

Most people applaud as the two girls go to the stage, and start gushing about how grateful and disbelieving they are about being chosen.

"Oh, wow, that's just sad." Malia says, as one girl starts to cry. 

"And utterly fake," Stiles agrees, 

"Ah well," Faith says. "Wanna crash the after party?"

"I'd rather go patrolling." Buffy says drily. "No need to hang around here."

Cordelia agrees with the latter sentiment, and takes Xander by the arm and drags him away. 

"Bye," He calls back, and the others echo him. "What's patrolling?" Malia says. 

"Slayers go out, find vampires, stake vampires, rinse and repeat." Buffy says, "I guess anyone could do it really," She adds, "So long as they're skilled or powerful."

"I'd like to have a go then." Malia says. "It's good, right?"

"Course it is." Faith says. "Cleaning the streets of the jackasses that feed on people."

Malia inclines her head. "Alright then." She says. "Wanna take the jeep to - what, a graveyard?"

"Sure." Buffy says. "Come on then." Stiles says. "I'll drive. Since it's my jeep."

The four leave. (Giles goes home. They've exchanged goodbyes already.) 

* * *

 

It's late - early morning - when Stiles and Malia get back to the station. 

"We should probably patrol the area on a shift." Malia says. Stiles nods, and the two enter the office. "We should really set up an actual bedroom." Malia comments, drops onto the mattress that they found. "Once Peter get's his first paycheck." Stiles says. "I know when that is so if he does anything else with it.." 

Malia nods, and stiles drops down next to her, leans against the desk they used as a headboard. 

"So what do you think he did?" Stiles asked. Malia raised an eyebrow at him. "You know," Stiles explained, "The shadow."

"Oh, right." Malia says, nodding. "Probably transferred some powers over from him to you, since your conscious mind was at it's most agreeable?"

"I wouldn't say I was very agreeable," Stiles returned, drily, "But I was in the same space as him, so it was probably accessibility."

Malia nods, considering. 

"We'll just have to see what that's all about, then." She says, decisively. "Tomorrow."

Stiles nods, and the two get up, get changed, lie down, and go to sleep. 

* * *

Theo's jeep pops into existence and drops onto the road. He blinks, and looks around. 

"Right," He says to himself, and drives onwards. Not too far down the road he comes across Sunnydale, and smirks to himself.

_Found you._

* * *

 

 

 


	11. Interlude #2: Finding His Way Around, Maybe Stalking Someone (Read: Stiles) A Little.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo gets the layout of Sunnydale, the lowdown on the supernatural within it, bags himself a couple demons, and stalks Stiles.
> 
> All in a day's work, as far as Theo's considered.

Since Theo got into the other universe through a rift in space and time or some similar bullshit and hadn't exactly prepared for such an occasion, he decided to lay low that first night; go find a secluded place to park overnight, camp out in the back of his jeep, and figure out how he's going to handle this. 

So that's exactly what Theo does. He drives around town a bit - keeps to backstreets as much as he can, and then finds an out of the way place that's probably their equivalent of that place in the preserve teens go to make out and look over the town (and also is where the occasional werewolf will end up so they can make their howl carry across the whole of Beacon Hills).

It seems suitable enough. Theo parks near the back and out of the way then turns his engine off and makes sure all of the doors are locked, and finally clambers into the back. 

Theo takes category of what he has stashed back here; Theo's always been on the move, due to working with the Dread Doctors, and so he makes sure to keep all of his things close by.

He's had this jeep ever since he learned how to drive - sixteen, undercover in a larger city but not somewhere widely known that he's already forgotten the name of (because there was nothing for him there) - and therefore it's the only place he knows he can store things he wants to always have.

Provisions, for example. Non-perishable foods (or as close to that as you can get, at any rate), spare clothes, a bag of valuables and cash (the valuables for selling if they end up somewhere other than America, though that is unlikely) and finally a few spare disposable phones. Just in case. 

Theo likes to be prepared. 

The teen sighs, searches around for something like a blanket or a sheet or whatever but finds nothing, so resigns himself to sleeping without a cover (since his coat is nowhere near big enough to cover all of him and that would just be annoying.)

Theo takes off his top and switches his trousers for a pair of sweatpants, and lies down across the seats, knowing full well it'll take a while for him to doze off. 

* * *

Theo is jerked awake by the sound of something walking around the area, trying it's best to be stealthy.

That would work, of course, if Theo didn't have super hearing and the whatever it was hadn't tripped and banged against his jeep. 

So, really, it's more that he's jolted awake by the sudden and unexpected rocking of his car and banging of something falling against it, but regardless of the how Theo is awake and  _royally pissed._

Theo grabs his shoes and throws them on, not bothering with getting properly dressed, and slams his door open, knocking whoever it was right back down onto the floor with a painful  _thump._

"What the fuck, man?" Whoever it is said, and they sounded pretty drunk.

"I could ask you the same thing," Theo says cooly, glares down at - 

What.

_What is he looking at?_

Theo has seen some... strange things, being a chimera, working with the Doctors as he does - and while this isn't necessarily the strangest, it's definitely up there.

Whatever the creature is, it's rather disgusting. Theo's nose wrinkles and his mouth twists almost automatically. 

"I'm just - minding my own business, looking for a snack, and then - Bam! You open your door on my face, man that's just not cool." 

Whatever it is stands, brushes itself down. "However, this has given me a rather great opportunity for a bite to eat, so I'm not going to look a gift horse in the shirtless mouth, right?"

It pauses, Theo glares at whatever it is, because he knows for a fact that this - it's not like a wendigo, because it was never human, but human appears to be part of its particular diet. 

_No thank you._

Not that Theo's fully human, but then, it's not quite as obvious as - whatever this thing is. 

"I - uh. Really messed up that turn of phrase, didn't I?" It asked, frowned, and then shrugged.

"Oh well."

The - Theo really has no idea but - the whatever it is strikes a hand out to grab him, and it's only Theo's enhanced reflexes that let him dodge it, diving out of the way but at the same time, leaving the semi-safe haven of his jeep.

"Well. You're a fast one, ain't 'cha?" The other comments as he turns around. The whatever blinks, taken aback, because Theo's having none of this, and has shifted (not fully - he needs the advantage of hands in this fight) claws out and eyes glowing golden. 

"And... that's unexpected." The other frowns, shifts awkwardly. "How about - we just forget about  this mishap, yeah?"

"No," Theo says flatly. "Let's not."

"Suit yourself," The creature shrugs, leans into a fighting stance. 

They circle each other for a moment, and the - whatever - lunges, clumsy.

Not used to his prey fighting back, Theo figures, and sidesteps it, grabbing an arm and then twisting, using the other's momentum to throw it, and it crashes into a tree. 

"Ow." It grunts. "What are you?" Theo demands, and the other blinks at him. 

"What're you, eh?" The other demands. "No human ain't ever done that before."

Theo stares. That was terrible. "Werewolf." He says, default answer, and - while the other is dumbfounded for a moment - charges them, claws out, and then slams his hand into their gut. 

"Well that's unfortunate," It says, coughing up blood. "I kinda needed that organ."

Theo doesn't respond; simply rips upward, and lets the thing drop to the floor, before crushing it's neck - since whatever it is is vaguely humanoid, he figures that will at the very least hurt - and stepping back.

He waits a minute or so, a strange greenish-black 'blood' dripping from his hand, and once he's assessed that the other has stopped being alive - no breathing, what equates to its heartbeat stopped, etc - he wipes his hand on the grass, grimacing, and then checks the - whatever over for  _something._

An ID, keys, phone, whatever - something that he can use. Theo comes up with jack squat for his efforts though. Sighing, the teen lifts the being up, walks over to the edge of the lookout point, and drops the body. Hopefully, that'll be that, since it isn't humanoid and the supernatural world gets ignored as much as is possible by the general public and the authorities. 

But it does prove Theo can't stay here. Being out on the edges of society in this world appears to be annoyingly dangerous. He's going to have to go into the town tomorrow and find a place to stay - motel, hotel, b&b, Theo's not picky - on top of everything else.

And it means he's going to have to be extra careful not to be found by Stiles and Malia before he's ready and properly prepared with all the correct lies to confront them. 

* * *

Theo wasn't attacked during the rest of the night, and he got enough sleep to feel fine if not revitalized come morning. 

As it is, Theo has a lot of work to do. The first is to get a layout of the town, and that should be easy enough. It's not really a tourist kinda place, Sunnydale, but it  _is_ on the exit road from Cali, so people will inevitably stop over here - and so hotels and motels are commonplace, and so are maps, which appear to be sold in pretty much every store. 

Sunnydale is one of those kinda towns. A layover, for most people - a single stop on a journey somewhere else. Theo's read about things like liminal spaces, and Sunnydale fits the bill quite well. 

Still. It's not a single stop for him, and so eventually he does find the single shop which has maps of Sunnydale itself. It takes a lot longer than he would have liked, but it is what it is. 

After that, Theo finds a small cafe and gets something to eat and drink, and ponders his options for a moment. 

It took all morning to find the map, for fuck's sake, so Theo knows his next priority is going to have to be finding a place to stay, and a source of income. 

Theo smooths the map out over the table he's at - in the corner of the room, can see who's coming in but not immediately noticeable from the front door itself - and scans it over. He spots a few that he deems too close to the center of town and a few too close to the outskirts, and immediately crosses out ones with occult-sounding names because he doesn't exactly want to push his luck and end up fighting a whole group of - whatever that was last night.

Eventually, he decides to go have a look in what seems like an abandoned part of town for a set of apartments that still have working water, at least, if not anything else, and folds up the map, and pockets it, leaves the money on the table and exits the cafe unnoticed. 

* * *

Theo smells them long before he hears them or sees them, and he manages to hide far down an alley before Stiles and whoever the other person - a man, a few decades older than them and who vaguely reminds him of Malia - walk past. 

Theo... can't really pass the opportunity to listen. He's not going to follow them - not while Stiles has unknown company - but he's going to listen. 

 _"Your paycheck came in today,"_ Stiles said. _"Please tell me you got it in cash?"_

 _"Unfortunately no."_ The other replied. _"I had to open a bank account. Luckily for us, the bank in Sunnydale is as corrupt as they come. It did take most of the paycheck, but they opened the account without much fanfare under the name Pete Tate, which is the best they would allow for the money I had."_

Stiles sighs. _"That's something, at least."_

 _"It does mean we'll need to wait until the next paycheck to start fixing the station."_ The man commented. _"But I felt the need to lay low was more important at the current time."_

The man stops, and after a few heartbeats, Stiles asks. _"Earth to Peter. Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?"_

 _"I'd avoid that alleyway."_ The man advises, smoothly, and Theo hears footsteps fade off into the distance. 

 _"Fucking creep."_ Stiles mutters, just loud enough for Theo to hear - and so was probably meant for this 'Peter's' ears too - and then his footsteps faded as well. 

Theo let out the breath he'd been holding. Whoever this Peter is has enhanced hearing; Theo's just very lucky neither investigated what the man had heard. Considering that was Theo, and Theo wasn't ready to be revealed quite yet.

Nor was he exactly pleased with the prospect of having to explain why he was eavesdropping on them in an alleyway, but that didn't have to happen, so Theo will just be more careful. 

As it stands...

Theo opens the map and consults it. Yes - he was right; there was only one 'station' in the abandoned district Theo felt confident that they would be talking about. 

Theo took out a marker he'd got from the same place he'd gotten the map, and circled the station. He'd need to avoid getting too close to there, as Malia would surely recognize his scent. 

That makes things a little more difficult. He's already circled the school as a potential no-go zone, because if these two were planning on properly running away, they'll need that qualification if nothing else. 

And finally, Theo sighed, because now he had to look elsewhere for housing. 

Damn it. 

* * *

 

Theo finds an apartment complex that would be pretty perfect - not too recently abandoned but not let off the grid yet, furniture still in place in most apartments and appliances seemingly still in working order - if it weren't for the vampire he finds in the third apartment on the fourth floor. 

"And a snack waltzes right on in like he owns the place," The vampire says, and Theo looks at it disinterestedly. 

"I was looking for a place to stay," Theo said. "Unfortunately, you don't seem very agreeable to having neighbours."

The vampire licks her lips and smirks, shrugging. "Oh, I'm  _agreeable._ " She purrs, stalks forwards. "So long as you know your own expiry date."

"... Never." Theo shoves her backward and she goes flying, an unexpected hit rendering her surprised. "Hey!" She says. "You wouldn't hit a lady."

Theo blinks at her. The vampire shrugs. "Worth a try, right?" She says, and Theo thinks she must be young, because when she rushes him her technique is sloppy and he sidesteps, throws her into the wall, the impact heightened by her own momentum.

While she's disorientated, Theo snaps the leg off of her coffee table.

"Advice: don't live with things that can kill you," Theo says, not that she'll really be needing the advice, and slams the makeshift stake home. The girl turns to ashes, and he drops the stake. 

Well. He's certainly not choosing this particular apartment. But that doesn't mean he won't take her microwave. 

* * *

Theo gets his place set up. He's on the second floor, with a window to the fire escape and its close enough to the ground that Theo's in little danger of death should he get thrown out of said window and crash to the ground. 

It's safe enough, he figures, as Theo puts his one or two t-shirts, sweatpants and jeans away in the closet, then stores his underwear and socks in the dresser. It most definitely could be far worse, Theo knows. The whole complex could be taken over by a - whatever of vampires, and that would have been far too much for just Theo to take on.

Regardless, Theo's all set up now, and it's already pretty late. He grabs something to eat from his stash, and then gets changed and crashes on the pillow-less bed.

It's better than a car seat, he decides, and slowly drifts off into a light sleep. 

Tomorrow, Theo's going to try and track the two he's here for and the extra he hadn't been prepared for. Theo's good enough to avoid them entirely if he tries, but if he bumps into them, he won't miss the opportunity.

Tomorrow will be either first contact or a whole day of following the two, he's decided. No matter how it plays out.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 


	12. A Little Bit Of (Bad) Luck. (Looking Back At The Past Is Never Easy.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~~  
> Malia gives an explanation of Were-creatures and what it means to have blue eyes.  
> ~~~  
> Theo confronts Stiles about a favour.  
> ~~~

When Stiles wakes up the following day - the day after finding out Peter's pay-check had had to go towards hiding their lack of identities instead of fixing up their base - he's alone.

_Gone to ask Faith & Buffy about vampire stuff. Willow asked to meet me at the library with Giles and Oz during lunch, despite it being Saturday and didn't say why. See you later._

_\- Malia._

Short and sweet and to the point. Yeah, that was Malia alright. Stiles' mouth quirked up to one side, fond, as he balled the note up and dropped it into the bin. 

Alright. So Stiles doesn't really have anything to do today then. 

Deciding his first course of action might as well be to make sure all the traps are set properly, here in the Station and along the route to the old gym, Stiles stands and dresses, grabs his bag of spare clothes, toiletries, and cash, then goes down into the kitchen.

Peter's there, messing with the microwave. He actually looks like he knows what he's doing, so Stiles leaves him to it and makes himself a bowl of cereal.

"Are you absolutely certain nobody followed us out of Beacon Hills?" Peter asks without preamble, and Stiles frowns at him. "I think Malia would have told me if they were," And he says it in such a way that is asking Peter  _'Are you saying you think your daughter is incompetent?',_ Because Stiles knows Peter and his ego, and he knows that Peter would never be able to admit to his own or his child's own faults.

And Stiles trusts Malia. She didn't say there was anyone following them, so Stiles is damn certain that there wasn't. Regardless; Stiles would have seen them. He'd have known that they were there. He just... wouldn't be able to explain how he knew.

Peter hummed in acknowledgment, and Stiles scowls at his cereal before eating it quickly, determined to remove himself from this conversation as fast as possible. 

Once Stiles is finished eating, he gets up and he leaves the kitchen, leaves the Station (after checking the traps) and re-seals the mountain ash, uncaring of the fact that he's trapped Peter inside for the rest of the day.

It'll mean Stiles won't have to worry about whatever Uncle Creeper is up to, so honestly, that's a win in his books. 

* * *

Stiles finishes checking the traps at the gym and is now certain their route is safe. Having also taken the time to set up some vamp traps, Stiles is even more sure of that now than he has been for the whole time they've been in Sunnydale prior to today. 

Unsure of what to do next, Stiles washes up in the gym's showers and gets ready for the day, returns to the Station and gets in his jeep. Stiles ponders on his options for a moment - going to see what Malia is up to... and that's really it - before deciding not to do that and to simply drive around Sunnydale in order to get a lay of the land. 

It seems like a useful way to spend his time, and so Stiles does exactly that. 

* * *

When Malia arrives at the library, she's not sure what to expect. Finding Willow, Oz and Giles simply sitting around the central table relaxes her slightly, since it makes this seem like it's not an interrogation of some form. However, Malia is still wary.

Malia slides into a seat, and Willow appears to compose herself before speaking. "So," Willow starts, "You're a werecoyote, and my boyfriend is a werewolf, right? And we were wondering if you had - had any more knowledge of how that works compared to what we know." Willow glances at Giles. "And Giles is here because if you do, that means our books aren't - good, enough, and we'll need to record the new information... or something."

Malia nods. "Alright," She says. "Should I go first?"

"That would make sense," Willow says, and Oz leans forwards, face impassive but heartbeat raised ever so slightly above its usual tempo. Giles takes out a notepad and a pen, and then Malia starts talking.

"From what I know," Malia begins, "There is a wide range of were-creatures. Werewolves, were-coyotes, and I figure pretty much anything else you can think of. I've - or, well, _we've_ fought a were-jaguar, for example. Were-creatures aren't inherently evil, though some can be, especially if they give in to baser instincts. Not were-specific baser instincts, but the baser instincts of the individual." Malia pauses. "Like the were-jaguar I mentioned; she gave in to - well, her instinct to _hunt_ , I suppose." Malia's lips quirked upwards. "Considering she was a supernatural hunter previously, it's - fitting."

Malia pauses here, and Oz frowns at her. "Supernatural hunter?" He asks, and Malia nods. "People who hunt the supernatural. Out of hatred, fear, superstition. Or a simple liking for murder and a wish to do it in a way that's supposedly 'justified'."

Oz nods, and Malia returns to her previous explanation. "Anyway, so you have that. Then, of course, there's the different forms of each - Alpha, beta, omega. Alphas are leaders with red eyes, and they grow in power the larger their pack. Betas are pack members, and omegas are werewolves that lack a pack. You can have an Alpha that is an omega, and they're always the worst, since they have the boost in power that all Alphas have, and the incessant need for pack that they will fulfill in any way that they can, including biting and turning anyone and everyone no matter their consent in order to get betas. Omegas, those without a pack, will inevitably go crazy. I don't know if that's fixable or not, but it's fact all the same. There's also the case of True Alphas; betas who rise to Alpha-hood without the need to kill an Alpha or wait for the death of their Alpha to  _maybe_ get the power via inheritance. As far as I'm aware, some packs have a system where a specific beta is chosen and will be raised to be an Alpha, and will kill the previous one at a set time so that they will definitely be the one to gain the power."

There's a pause. Malia shrugs. "And that's all I know about the power system."

Giles finishes writing, and Willow and Oz share a glance. "I guess I'll just move onto the actual ramifications of being a were-creature." Malia continues, then starts up her explanation again. "So, with that out of the way, we'll go onto mechanics and the biological stuff. Some weres can do a 'full-shift', which means they can turn into a wolf or a coyote or whatever they may be. All were-creatures can do a partial-shift, meaning they can gain claws and fangs and extra hair for the guys and sometimes a lack of eyebrows for... some reason." Malia shrugs and demonstrates. "My eyes are blue. Most were-creatures' eyes will be gold, Alphas are red. Blue..." Malia hesitates here, frowns and loses her shift, but keeps her eyes glowing.

"Blue?..." Willow prompts, frowning over at Malia.

Malia swallows, and then looks up at the three in turn, before focusing on Oz. "Blue means you've taken an innocent life."

Willow lets out a rush of air, and Giles purses his lips at her. Oz's heartbeat spikes, but he shows no external signs of being affected aside from that. 

"It doesn't mean you've committed murder." Malia continues. "It - it just means you're the reason an innocent is dead. For example, a - relative, of mine, from what I've been told, alleviated the pain of a slow and horrific death from his girlfriend at the age of fifteen by committing a mercy kill. Whether it was at her request or not, I don't know. I haven't been told the whole story."

"Is yours a similar case?" Giles probes, and Malia - can't look at him.

"No," Is all she says, heavy and final. "But..." Here, she pauses.

(There's a reason she never pushes Stiles to understand that the Nogitsune's actions, that Donovan's death wasn't his fault - that they aren't something he should hold on his conscience. Its because she  _gets it,_ Malia gets the inability to separate something you vividly remember doing yourself from your own actions. From something you can feel guilty about.)

Malia swallows. "Were-creatures," She moves on - ignores Giles' piercing look and Willows confusion, focuses on Oz's lack of a reaction. "Are affected by the full moon. As you well know."

Willow nods and Oz inclines his head. Malia takes in a breath and doesn't notice (and nobody points it out to her) that her fingers are digging into the wood of the table. 

"If a were-creature doesn't have an anchor prepared, they lose control." Malia takes in a breath and closes her eyes. "They shift, and they - can't stop themselves. They hunt, or at least they want to if they're restrained, and they -" Malia stops. 

"You don't need to continue," Willow says softly, and Malia looks at her, eyes glaring blue. "You should know," Malia says. 

Malia continues.

"A were-creature can lose control and - and kill people." Malia pauses, takes a breath. "I, for example, experienced my first full moon when I was nine. I - wasn't prepared. I didn't even know I was a werewolf."

Malia opens her eyes and looks to Giles. "I killed my family." She said, calm and collected, a fact she's recounted more times than she has fingers. "I killed my family on a full moon, and I ate them."

Malia turns her attention back to Oz. "You need an anchor." She says. "And you need to figure out why you can't partially shift, and you need to figure out why your full-shift is corrupted. And you need to do it  _now_ before you hurt someone. Trust me, you'll  _never_ forgive yourself."

And with that, Malia gets up. She grabs her bag and she leaves, slamming the door behind herself and in the process damaging the hinges. Malia doesn't much care - she leaves, and she  _runs._

* * *

Stiles is driving around the town, mind wandering when he sees - 

No.  _No._ Stiles refuses to believe -

It's just the same car. That's all. 

But Stiles can tell, after he sees it, that the car - it's following him. And Stiles - 

Stiles doesn't know anyone here. But he knows a person back home who (unfortunately) owns that Jeep. And if Stiles didn't already feel bitter, then the knowledge that Scott would send - when he knows perfectly well that Stiles - 

Stiles shifts gear and drives into the abandoned part of town, pulls up at a small, empty gas station and hops out of his car, pulls himself up onto the hood and waits. 

The jeep pulls in, and Theo gets out. Because  _of course_ Theo'd find them,  _of course_ Scott would send Theo,  _of course_ nobody would object.

_Of. Fucking. Course._

"Well?" Stiles asks, short and cold and -

 _Angry._ Because Stiles - he hates Theo. Hates him  _vehemently._ He's hated him for a long time, and he will continue to do so until the day he dies. And by 'he', Stiles means either himself or Theo. It's hard to hate dead people; believe him, Stiles has tried. 

(And its impossible to hate someone if you are dead yourself. Obviously.)

"Alright," Theo says, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Stiles glares at him, gives himself a moment to cool down before dropping off the jeep and folding his arms. "Well?" He asks again - snaps at Theo, maybe, and Theo winces, ever the actor. 

"Look," Theo continues. "All I ask is that you listen for a moment, alright?"

"Why'd you come to me?" Stiles asks accusingly. "I  _hate_ you. You'd have more luck going to someone else."

"You mean Malia?" Theo asks, and Stiles glares at him harder. "Or the other guy?"

_No, definitely not. Stiles wants Theo to stay as far away from those two as is supernaturally possible, for completely different reasons._

"Fine." Stiles snaps. "Go on then. What do you want?"

"I want refuge," Theo says. "In exchange for not going back to Beacon and telling Scott and the rest where you are, I want to have a place to stay while I finish my high school education, and I want a place to stay that isn't infested with vampires."

Stiles scowls at the other teen. "Why would you even need _refuge?"_ He demands. "It's not like-"

 _"Scott knows._ " Theo throws out, abrupt and loud. He repeats himself, quieter and more earnest, and Stiles sneers and looks away because _he can't_ - 

"Scott knows about Josh. About what happened on the roof. He... wasn't happy."

 _No shit, Sherlock,_ Stiles thinks and returns to glaring at Theo.

(That... was a mistake.)

Theo's expression is earnest - almost beseeching Stiles to listen, to  _care,_ to  _understand,_ and Stiles  _hates him._

He hates him  _viciously,_ because Theo -

(They know each other, these two. They've known each other at their best and their worst, as children and as teens and as just-barely adults, and they  _know each other.)_

(Stiles hates what he's done. He hates who Theo is now. But he can't hate him, not really. Not with their history.)

\- "Please." Theo stares at him. He's a great actor, Stiles will give him that.

Still.

 " _Stiles."_

Stiles looks back at Theo, askance. 

(There was a time when they were younger, a time when if Stiles had just listened then maybe -)

(There was a time when they were younger, a time when if Theo had just asked outright then maybe -)

"Alright," Stiles says, heavily. "Fine."

Theo looks relieved. Stiles - 

(He doesn't hate him. Not really. It's not that simple.

He _can't_  hate him.And _that_ is what he hates.)

\- wants to punch him in the face. He decides instead to get into his jeep, gestures for Theo to follow in his, and drives.

* * *

 


	13. An Expected Visitor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malia finds out about Theo being in Sunnydale with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small thing.

Theo follows Stiles in his own jeep, follows him into the abandoned section and to the exact place he'd thought Stiles and the others were hiding. 

Stiles parks up on the sidewalk, and Theo parks up behind him. Stiles gets out, and Theo copies, slower, tries to act unthreateningly. 

"Thanks for this," Theo says, easily, genuinely, kindly. He knows Stiles well - knows that he'd rile at the way Theo's talking to him, but knows that he wouldn't help if Theo acted any other way. And Stiles does; his shoulders straighten and his back stiffens and he says "Sure," Flat and ill at ease. Theo mentally smiles. 

Stiles walks him through the front door, and there's a man there; the man from the walk yesterday. He's middle-aged, or looks it, and is raising a quizzical eyebrow at Stiles, who looks at him flatly, expression non-existent. The man smirks, slightly, turns and leaves.

Stiles rolls his eyes - a break from the stiff, defensive, angry closed-off-ness - then turns to Theo. 

"Who was that?" Theo asks, and Stiles' mouth twists in distaste. "Peter Hale." Theo racks his brain for the name but comes up empty, and stares across at Stiles, internally bewildered.

Stiles scoffs. "You know all about us yet you don't know who Peter Hale is?" He asks, flicks his eyes upwards as if to ask the heavens for some extra patience. Theo doesn't actually believe that anything's up there, of course, but he doesn't know whether Stiles does or not. Noah does, after all, and in most cases - like father, like son. 

"Malia's biological father," Stiles says, bluntly. "The person who bit Scott? Ring any bells?" He asked, rhetorically, before rolling his eyes again. "Doesn't matter," He dismissed, then jerked his head slightly in a 'follow me' kind of gesture, before - "Come on... 'll find you a room," He mutters, turns and walks to the stairs. Theo follows, and the two ascend.

Stiles looks - uncomfortable. Theo expected that of course - and he can't really do anything about it. Gone is the ease of which they held conversations as children... but then, they aren't children anymore. 

Theo doesn't think of Stiles the same way he did back then. 

Stiles stops in front of a room - an old office, Theo thinks - and opens the door, gestures for Theo to enter. Theo does, and the two wander in. 

"Like to tell me how you did that?" Stiles asks, and Theo turns to him, slightly confused. "Did what?" He asked. Stiles is stood there, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. He flicks his eyes down - and Theo follows his gaze. 

Oh.  _Fuck._

"Mountain ash," Stiles says as if Theo isn't fully aware of that.  _Shit. Fuck._

He wasn't supposed to find out yet. 

"Considering you're a werewolf," Stiles continues, "Or, at least, you  _say_ you are, call me curious. How, exactly, did you get past it?"

Theo was suddenly left wrong-footed. He hesitated, flicked his eyes here and there before looking to Stiles. 

He could spin this. Theo thinks, wildly. He could - he could claim ignorance. But... but that would hurt him rather than help him down the line, wouldn't it? Theo already lives enough lies, adding one to the pile would, at the same time as really being nothing, complicate things further. 

Theo lets out a breath, closes his eyes and grimaces. "...I'm a chimera," He said, finally. 

"I wouldn't have guessed," Stiles said dryly, cooly. "Anything else you've kept from me?"

Me. Not 'us'. Theo paused, frowned at Stiles - who paused, worried at his bottom lip and looked away. "Us," Stiles says. "From me, from Scott, from Malia, from Lydia, from - everyone. Us."

"Only what I haven't kept from you," Theo said, slowly. 

"I have a hard time believing that," Stiles tells him, and Theo can understand that. He's used that, previously, used it to do the things that have occurred (used it to break Stiles away from Scott, away from Lydia, away from everyone - but not his dad... Theo couldn't do that -) 

"I know." Theo acknowledges. "But I'm telling the truth."

Stiles stares at him, for a moment. Theo shifts, feigning a slight uncomfortableness, and Stiles looks away. 

"You're lying to me," Stiles says, heavily. Theo - Theo shrugs, and looks away too.

"Fine," He says. "I'm lying to you." 

Stiles looks  _angry,_ for a moment - the kind of anger that Theo's been trying to stir in him since the day he got here... it's just directed at the wrong person. Theo himself.

No matter. He can work with this. 

"Tell me the  _fucking truth_ or I  _swear to god-"_

Stiles strides forward, comes to an aborted halt just in front of Theo, before he makes a frustrated noise and spins around, paces, paces. Just paces. 

He stops pacing, back to Theo. 

Theo looks at Stiles, askance. 

"Stay here." Stiles orders, shortly - leaves the room and slams the door. If Theo wants his plans to work, he'll just have to play along for now - so he does what Stiles says. He stays put. 

* * *

Theo is sitting, leaning against the old, broken desk when Stiles returns. 

Stiles storms in and slams the door open with a  _bang._ He paces, back and forth, back and forth. 

"Stiles...?" Theo started, and Stiles stopped, glared at him - Theo didn't continue. He tries to convey what he wanted to say through his expression;  _'something the matter?'_ and Stiles glares at him, takes one step towards him then grimaces, angry, takes five steps back and slides down the wall opposite. 

"I'm fine." He says. "Not that you care."

Theo looks away. Sure.  _Not that he cares._ Right. "Why tell me then?" Theo asked.

Stiles grumbled something low enough for even Theo not to hear it, which is a feat in its own right. Theo sighed and looked back at the other young adult.

Barely an adult. They're both barely adults, just kids that grew up too fast for different reasons. 

Reasons Theo knows, reasons Stiles wishes he did. Theo knows that what Stiles wants to know is something that Stiles should never know unless Theo wants all his chances to be ruined. 

"I'm all ears," Theo says, shrugs. "Since I'm stuck here, and all." 

Stiles glares at him, glares him into silence. Stiles was always good at that, Theo knows. 

There's silence, for a moment. Stiles sighs and rests his arms on his knees, looks out the window. It's dark outside, night, and it's surprisingly gloomy for California. But then, Theo doesn't remember Cali all that well. 

He remembers the people. How could he forget the people?

"They're getting curious," Stiles grumbles, relents, and Theo smirks slightly - something Stiles can't see. There aren't any lights in the office. "We'll probably have to pack up and leave if - if we get any more questions." Stiles continues. Theo can tell that he doesn't want to; that he actually kind of likes it here. It's in the way his expression changes at the thought and the way he shifts, restless, the way his tone turns to one of annoyance. 

"Can't you discourage them?"

"They'd get more insistent," Stiles dismisses. "No, it'd be best if -"

"If you up and leave without any warning?" Theo finished, question rhetorical. He knows Stiles too well for it to have been an actual question. "Sounds suspicious to me."

"Well you'd know all about that, wouldn't you," Stiles semi-sneers, but he sighs all the same. "I guess," He allows. 

"I'm... sorry I lied about being a chimera," Theo offers. He's not - and in the dark, despite the dark, Stiles seems to be able to tell. He rolls his eyes. "No, you're not." Stiles snorts. "You've never been capable of that."

That's the first proper reference Stiles has made about their shared history since Theo had arrived in Beacon Hills that Stiles said specifically to his face. 

"Oh yeah?" Theo asked, smiling. It was - it was something. Theo figured he could find a way to use it. At least... it stops Stiles from being able to deny that they were ever  _friends._

"Your sister died of hypothermia," Stiles said. "At least, that's what the records say."

Theo froze - pun not intended - and stared across at him in the dark.

"I'm not an idiot, Theo." Stiles sighed, exhausted. Emotionally; Theo knows he's been through a lot - knows it has likely worn down on him. 

"Usually hypothermia victims aren't missing their heart, though." Stiles looks over at him. 

"You think I killed her." Theo says. Calm. He's - not calm. He was going to  _use this,_ damn it. Damn him. 

"Let's not lie any more than we already have," Stiles says, heavily. "I know you did."

There's a pause. Theo - looks at him, properly. Stiles stares back, for a beat, before licking his lips in nervousness and looking away.

"... you're-"

"Don't," Stiles says. "Just -" He doesn't continue. Stiles stands, doesn't take one last glance Theo's way - just leaves the room, closes the door behind himself.

Theo watches him go. 

* * *

"What are we gonna do about him?" Malia asked. She was on the phone, standing on the sidewalk. Malia had been about halfway between the School and the Station when she'd gotten the call.

Theo had caught up with them. Malia can't say she's surprised, but she definitely can say she's annoyed. 

"... we're not gonna do anything." Stiles says, after a moment. Malia scoffs, sighs, grimaces. "Stiles," She starts - "We could just move on. Tie him up and run, give ourselves some time."

"He's a chimera," Stiles said. "We don't have anything that could keep him."

Malia swore, and Stiles made an agreeing noise. 

"Has he been one the whole time?" Malia asked. 

"I don't know," Stiles told her - truthful, or she thinks so. Malia knows Stiles can keep his heartbeat steady, and she doesn't mind, exactly. It's not really fair that she can tell when he's lying and he can't, not by the same simple method. 

"Well, what are we gonna do, then?" Malia asked, technically again, and she could hear Stiles shrug; the shift of his hoodie, the quiet bang of his phone against his shoulder. "Get him to enroll and keep an eye on him," Stiles said, tone reluctant.

Malia got why. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" She asked. "I mean - you've told me you think he's the one that told Scott." 

"I  _know_ he is," Stiles snaps, momentarily angry, then sighs. "Sorry. But... it's the best I've got."

It was the best Malia could think of, too. She sighed, relented. "Fine," Malia said. "But that means we'll have to split the priorities. You can keep an eye on Peter and I'll keep one on Theo."

Less of a conflict of interest, that way, Malia knew. She didn't exactly know how well Stiles and Theo actually knew each other, but she knew that Theo had likely already manipulated him, and she didn't want him anywhere near her boyfriend. And, well... Peter was her biological father. She didn't really want to be anywhere near him herself.

"Sure," Stiles nodded; the drag of his phone against his skin, the brush of his hoodie against the side of his neck. "Sounds like a plan."

"Cool," Malia nodded - "See you later."

"See you later," Stiles said, hung up the phone.

Malia pocketed her phone and grimaced. Now was not a good time for Theo to catch up with them; not when the Shadow had done whatever he'd done and she'd just told Willow and Giles and Oz about blue eyes. 

There wasn't anything she could do, though. Aside from hope for the best.

* * *

 

"So he's the one that told Scott about Donovan, then?" Peter asked. 

Stiles glowered at him. "Yes." He affirmed, short and annoyed. 

"So he's the reason you're on the run?" Peter asked. 

Stiles continued glowering at him. " _Yes."_ He affirmed again; sharper. 

Peter smirked, amused. "Interesting." He allowed, and Stiles  _glowered._ "You are not talking to him." Stiles ordered.

"I wasn't going to," Peter lied, easily, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. "Liar," He accused, and Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles scoffed. Peter sighed. 

"Fine, fine," He agreed half-heartedly. 

* * *

Stiles knew this was bad. Very, very bad. Theo being here was vehemently  _not good,_ because Theo liked to be an asshole that ruins things, and Theo was the reason they're even on the run in the first place. 

So yes. It was very, very bad.

Stiles couldn't exactly do anything about it though, damn him. So really, all he could do was sit back, and wait, and watch.

And hope things didn't fall apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what happened with the tenses here but oh well.   
> I'll do better in the next chapter, promise.


	14. An Old Kind Of Familiarity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just know that us and the undead are the only ones up this late."  
> ~~~  
> yeah... you might want to rethink that statement, Buffy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop! Band Candy Alert! Whoop Whoop!  
> I did this all today, are you proud of me??? Also like, eight thousand words. Wow.  
> ~~~  
> (Basically - disclaimer; the plot of this chapter is based on the actual season three episode, 'Band Candy'. Don't tell me I did a good job with the plot bc it ain't mine, dudes, lol. However, obviously anything with the TW gang in it is semi-my own invention, as that does have an effect on the story as a whole, but the general idea is very much BTVS'. Now that's done with, onto the story!)

_"I just know that us and the undead are the only ones up this late."_

* * *

For the record, Malia would love to be literally anywhere else, but she's on babysitting duty for one Theo Raeken, so here she is. In his jeep, on the driver's side, getting lessons from someone she doesn't wholly trust.

"I can drive plenty well," Malia says, pleasantly and flatly, as she barrels the car over the cones. 

"Right," Theo said, dubiously. "Sure." He got out of the car, and she followed. Malia wasn't about to let him out of her sight; he could run back to the phone booth they just passed and ruin... pretty much everything. 

The fact that they passed a phone booth is... kind of weird since Malia's never actually seen one in person, but whatever. Maybe Sunnydale is just one of those 'small towns' that aren't actually small yet act like they are, with all the old and outdated technology to back up that claim. 

"You don't need to act like my shadow," Theo said, pointedly. Malia deliberately walked behind him and ignored the sniggering in her head. 

She'd thought getting Stiles to speak to the Jungian guy would have shut him up permanently, but that appears to have not been the case. Sadly. 

"I'm not letting you out of my sight." She said, pointedly. 

"What about when you want to sleep?" He asked. "You can't lock me up with mountain ash, remember?"

That... was a good point. Malia would have to ask Stiles if he brought anything that could hold Theo, potentially. Either that or they're gonna have to take turns sleeping, and Malia isn't a nice person when sleep deprived. Stiles is pretty much always sleep deprived, so that kind of proves her point - because Stiles is great, at least from her perspective, but lately he's been... short with people more often, more likely to lash out against others and himself. And he's been getting less sleep, too, which worries her.

But now's not the time for that. Malia glowered at Theo, because why not, and he rolled his eyes. Despite the darkness of the very early morning, Malia could see this, and her glower strengthened. 

"I'm just saying," Theo said, "But you can't keep an eye on me forever. At some point, you're gonna have to trust that I won't bolt or tell anyone your secrets. Like your mother, for example."

Malia glared at him, properly. "She can't follow me here," Malia said. 

"Do you think that'd stop her from hurting the people back home?" Theo asked, genuinely curious or at least faking that, and Malia glared some more. "No." She said, finally. "Which is why we don't need you here, alright? We need you there. So you can help on the home front."

Theo snorted. "Help on the home front?" He asked. "Haven't you heard, but I'm just as - if not more - unwanted as Stiles is."

"Don't say that." Malia snapped. "Besides, it was you that told Scott about Donovan."

There was a pause. Shit, she shouldn't have said that.

"Oh, really?" Theo asked, straightened up, having finished putting all the cones back into their standing positions. "Why do you think that?"

"Because you, Stiles, and me were the only people to know," Malia said. "And I never said anything."

"To anyone," Theo said, turned around and looked at Malia - falsely, mockingly disappointed. "A great comfort, you are." He said, and Malia let him. "Where were you when Stiles was practically breaking down, huh?"

"Standing next to him as he packed his bags," Malia said. "In the car with him as he drove away."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Theo said. "Giving up everything you've got for someone who killed someone."

"You're one to talk," Malia said.

"And so are you," Theo said. "After all - your plan for your mother wasn't exactly a loving reunion. Regardless... you're the only one who'd be welcome back in Beacon. So you're the only one that can stop your mother from killing _every. Last. One._ of our friends." 

"Oh, fuck off already." Malia snarled at him, stepped forward as if to shove him but halted before she did so. "I've done everything I can and more to help everyone, alright, and that's more than I can say for you."

"I've helped," Theo said. "I tried to."

Malia thought maybe he sounded defensive, but then even if it did, it could all be just an act. There was no telling with him, and that - that made Malia more uneasy than anything else could. 

"You've only helped yourself," Malia said, cooly. "Get in the car. We're going back." She'd had enough of him. Keeping an ear out in the station was all that was really required of her, anyway. 

* * *

"Hey," Malia greeted when she went into the office they used as a bedroom. Man, they really needed to get that sorted. 

"Hey," Stiles said in return, moved over on the mattress so she could sit down next to him.

"I officially hate him," Malia grumbled, and Stiles sighed. "What'd he do now?"

"He was Theo," she said. "Is that enough?"

"More than," Stiles responded, immediately.

"How'd it go back here?" She asked. Theo was milling about in his designated room, and hadn't left it yet - she could hear his pacing, and that hadn't changed since she put him there. 

"Likely less annoyingly," Stiles said. "Peter knows when to cooperate, at the very least."

Malia hummed, scooted closer to Stiles. "Alright." She said. "I need sleep."

"Sure," Stiles said. "I'll have to go keep watch on Theo, though."

Malia sighed. "Fine," She grumbled, nodded. "We really need to find a way to keep him in there without the need to keep an eye on him."

"Desperately," Stiles agreed. Malia kissed him quickly then shooed him off the bed before she settled down.

"See you in a couple hours," Stiles said, then left the room.

Malia sighed, rolled onto her side, and waited for sleep to claim her. 

* * *

"Alright," Stiles said, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Theo said. "Except tell the truth."

"Yeah, no, even that's a lie," Stiles said. "God,  _can_ you even say _anything_ that's true?"

"Yeah," Theo glanced away, for a moment. "Most everything I've told you."

Stiles was silent, for a second. After, he moved over to the opposite wall again, then sat down across from Theo. It was darker in here than it had any right to be - Theo wished sorely for a light - but, due to his eyes, he could still see Stiles. Theo wasn't sure if the same could be said the other way around. 

(And that - the fact that he isn't sure - is...  _interesting.)_

Regardless, Stiles knew where Theo was in the room - either from sight or sound - and looked straight at him. As you do in any conversation, of course. 

As you should, at any rate.

"Another lie," Stiles said. "But sure, let's go with that. Let us pretend you told Scott about Josh, let's pretend you told Scott exactly how it went down with Donovan and didn't take any...  _creative_ liberties, let's pretend you weren't doing anything shady that you lied to me about - let's pretend that." Stiles allowed. "So - what did you say to Mal?"

Of course. Right. What else would this be about? Theo admits he might have pushed it, earlier, but he hadn't pushed it any further than he'd been planning to with Malia. He wants her on his side, after all. 

(Just... not as a package deal. He wants them both, but he wants them separately, and he wants them for different reasons.)

"Her mother." He said. "She's on her way back to Beacon in order to hunt her daughter."

There's a pause. Theo raised an eyebrow. "What, she didn't tell you?"

"I didn't tell her about Donovan, and she respected that," Stiles dismissed, easily. "What I'm wondering about is why  _you_ know. How you know."

"I was part of the plan, Stiles," Theo 'admitted'. Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, and Theo winced, looked away, made it genuine. 

(It was genuine. That's the thing - it's hard, not to be genuine with someone you once called 'friend'. Difficult, you see, to pretend. Not to lie - no, for Theo and for Stiles (Theo knows,) that's easy.  _Simple,_ even. 

But acting is a little different. It's harder when people know you and your mannerisms. When they were kids, Stiles seemed to know if Theo was lying just by looking at him - Theo hadn't been quite that good, but he'd been close. It's different now, of course... but still.)

The fact that half the time Theo's doing a shoddy job at pretending and half the time he's completely genuine is what angers him the most, Theo knows. 

"Which part?" Stiles asked. 

"I was supposed to get the claws for Malia, so she could depower her mother. She knew they might kill her, but didn't seem to mind all that much."

"Alright," Stiles allowed, "Say that's true. Those are the glowy blue claws, right? What do they do?"

"Steal power," Theo said. Informed. "They take power from a supernatural to give it to the supernatural who's wearing the claws."

"Alright," Stiles said. "That sounds dangerous in the wrong hands. Were you planning on using them?"

"... Yeah." Theo admitted. Properly, this time.  _Genuine._

(He's going to have to lie to make up for it.)

"Who were you going to maybe kill?"

"I was going to do it when it wouldn't kill them," Theo said. "A specific moon. It powers down the supernatural aside from Chimeras, since we aren't really supernatural beings in that sense."

Stiles' lips twist, mockingly amused. "Bet you like that, don't you?" He said. "Being a fake magical being that could die at any second."

"That's where you're wrong," Theo said, grinning to himself in the dark. "I'm the first Chimera. The first one to work. I'm no failure."

Stiles pulls his lips between his teeth and then - "Depends on who you ask."

Right. Theo supposes Stiles would consider Theo a failure. A failure as a  _friend,_ a failure as a brother, a son, as a person that could care about anything except himself. 

But that's from Stiles' perspective. Over here, on Theo's side, the same could be said for Stiles. 

(Maybe if either of them had said or done something, all of this would have turned out different. Or maybe it wouldn't, and they'd be here still, but more bitter. Maybe - in a world only Theo would imagine - It would be Stiles that was 'locked up' and Theo with the significant other who'd run away from a 'mistake' he'd made.)

(Theo's the only one who thinks it's only Theo that imagines that scenario.)

Theo sighs and looks out the window. It's late, still - really early morning - and he shakes his head.

"It's late." He says. "You should get some sleep." 

Stiles didn't look all that great (in comparison to how he normally looks, which... well -), and Theo...

He's not sure. He cares, he supposes, in a roundabout way. He wants void Stiles, that's for certain, but he wants Stiles to want that, not to be possessed again. If he's tired, if he's weak, then maybe that would happen. Who knows here, who knows in a world like this one, with strange demons and vampires and all manner of creatures wandering the streets. 

Theo  _cares._ He doesn't like that, of course - but he does. They were friends once, these two. That's not easily forgotten. 

(And maybe Theo thinks of him in a way that's vastly more complicated than  _friend._ The way that means he doesn't want Malia and Stiles as a package deal, the way that means he's honestly just _jealous_ of Scott.)

(But that's speaking in strictly maybes. For Theo... well. That wouldn't help, is all. It would hinder.)

"Unfortunately for the both of us," Stiles says, "Malia's sleeping and it's a vehement  _no_ to Peter watching over you, so here we're gonna have to sit, awake, all night. So yeah. I hate it as much as you do."

Theo doesn't hate it, exactly. Stiles doesn't really, either, and _that's_ what he hates. 

Maybe that's what Stiles was trying to say. Or maybe Theo's overthinking things again. 

Theo... doesn't want to find out. This is one complication he doesn't need for his plans to succeed, and it's one that can... _wait._

* * *

 

Peter has some free time on his hands. To be fair, this is likely the best thing that could have happened to him. He's removed from Beacon Hills, so he isn't confronted with  _McCall_ every three seconds and so he isn't overcome with the desire to get either Malia to kill him or to kill the Alpha himself, and so Peter's got some time to recover from - whatever it was that Valak did to him. 

He's also got time to  _plan._ But then... he's got a good thing going here. He's got his daughter, as much as Peter can have her. Peter's got a job, he's got a place to stay, and he's not being hunted. These are all good things.

Yet - he's a creature of habit. So maybe he should focus his sights elsewhere, just to occupy himself. Sure, it's fun messing with the two he accompanied here, and it's intriguing, the new puzzle of the one that he hasn't met yet - which is, in part, because of how amusingly  _conflicted_ Stiles' chemosignals are around him - but it's only a temporary kind of fun. 

This place has demons. That he knows - the books he's read all say the same thing, and he's had a look around the town, and Peter's seen a few things that can't be explained without that being the reason.

And as far as he's read, these demons are usually evil. So... he can't be blamed for a little sport, can he?

It'd be a change from the usual routine. Werewolves are predators, sure, but they're the hunted ones. Hunting could be... interesting. At least something to focus his attention and spare time on, when he isn't putting together lessons and spying on his daughter and Stiles and - as of yesterday - the man (as these children are all adults now, which is both a strange and a saddening thought; he missed a lot when unconscious) he'd scented that had been hiding down the alleyway. 

Yes. That could work. 

* * *

 

"Why didn't we bring along Faith, again?" Buffy asked. "I mean... you share watcher duties now, right?" She asked, again. "So... shouldn't she be here?" Another question.

Giles sighed. "It's a difficult situation," He allowed. "I think it would be best if you invited her."

Buffy nodded, slowly. 

"I will," she said. "Next time." 

They got along. Buffy hadn't - well, at first, she'd been a bit... leery, to say the least. It's just, Buffy had been gone so long after what happened with Angel, and then when she got back after her detour to hell, she hadn't - felt  _right_ among her friends. She'd felt... out of the loop, like she'd missed too much time and Buffy would never fit into 'the Scooby gang' again. It's just that - Buffy had gotten used to the monotony of life on the run. Move, new name. Move, new name. She'd liked Anne - just a small town girl trying to make a life in the city of angels (which... was why she'd chosen LA, to be honest with herself) - and she'd felt strange, giving that identity to someone else, no matter how much _she'd_ needed it, no matter how much _Buffy_ had needed to return to where _she_ was needed. 

And Faith had seemed to assimilate. Just like that - joking around and talking and everyone seemed to like her and Buffy had been - 

Jealous. 

And then she'd found out more about Faith. About why she was in Sunnydale  _really,_ about who she was running from and what she was running from, and though they are different - different in looks, in personality, in ways of dress and how they talk... Buffy thinks that they're remarkably similar. 

Two girls, running from something they'd rather forget. Outside of that, the differences end up seeming insignificant. 

So yes. Buffy liked Faith, now. She was - 

Fun. Buffy hadn't had fun in a... long time. 

* * *

 

Come morning, Malia wakes and she hears two steady (for the people that have them) heartbeats from Theo's room, one in Peter's, and her own, and she nods to herself. 

No dreams about the shadow. But laughter - a dark kind of chuckling, truthfully - rings in her ears all the same. 

Two people can't stay awake all night, of course. But Stiles is remarkably good at that, so when she goes into Theo's room to make sure Theo hadn't knocked Stiles out and tied up some random bystander in his stead, she's not surprised to see Stiles awake and leaning against the far wall. Theo's asleep, and Stiles is staring out of the window at the brick building opposite.

"School today," Malia says, and Stiles nods. 

"Feel like it?" She asks.

"No," Stiles mutters, sighs, stands up. "But it'll make it easier to keep an eye on this  asshole." Stiles nudges Theo and snaps "Wake up."

He does it again, a little more insistent, and Theo groans, rolls over and then stands. He grimaces and massages the back of his neck.

"I'm up," he says. "We off somewhere?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "You need to enrol," Malia explains, and Theo nods. "Alright," He agrees. "Lead the way."

* * *

"Candy?" Stiles asks. "Yes." The Principal says. "For the marching band. The proceeds will go to getting them new trombones, and you three have volunteered to sell it to various houses."

"That's... not the definition of volunteering, Principal Snyder," Theo says, frowning at the box he's been handed. 

"Tough luck." The principal says. "Now, get to class. And don't eat any of it!" He orders them, then wanders off to snag another group of unsuspecting students - Buffy and her friends, it looks like, from where Stiles is standing. 

"Well fuck that," Stiles says. "We'll just use some of the money I brought and say we couldn't sell any of them. Besides, we need the food."

"That's some circular logic," Theo says, pointing out the obvious. 

"Fine," Stiles says. "Think about it this way; free chocolate," He points out, takes the box from Theo and nods to himself. 

"True," Malia says. "What's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

"Forty boxes of 'cocorific' chocolate bars?" Peter asked, unimpressed. 

"We get what we can, and we were given them," Stiles said, as he packed them away into the semi-broken cupboard. 

Peter inclined his head. "I suppose it will do until we can afford something of quality. Like reese's peanut-"

"Nope, no, don't finish that sentence," Stiles interrupted. "You aren't ruining my favourite snack."

Peter smirked, and Stiles grumbled.

"Hey," Malia said. "What's going on?" Theo asked. Stiles glanced towards them before shrugging. 

"Apparently we're having chocolate bars for dinner," Peter said. "Want one?" He asked as he tossed two to the two adults. 

"Sure," Malia said dryly, as she caught hers. "That wasn't really an offer," Theo mused, as he grabbed his from the air. "More rhetorical."

"Oh, shut up and eat your chocolate," Stiles grumbled, and Theo raised an eyebrow, but did so.

* * *

"Hey Watcher, what's up?" Faith said as she entered the library. 

"Buffy," He started, "Has been called off of duty tonight by her mother, so it falls to you to patrol." Giles coughed slightly, as he frowned. "And, ah... help with twenty boxes of chocolate."

"Score," She said, grinning, and vaulted the desk to grab ten of them in her arms. "I'll take a stake and run, do some patrol later."

"Thank you, Faith," Giles said. "I'm not entirely sure what I would have done with twenty boxes of chocolate." 

"I'm sure you'd've found somethin' to do," She grinned, before nodding to him. "See ya, watcher." 

Faith grabbed a stake, as she'd said she would, and then left the library,

Giles glanced over at the boxes. "Might as well..." He mused, then grabbed one before taking a bite. 

* * *

"Don't you think you've eaten a lot of those?" Theo asked. "What?" Stiles said, distracted, as he focused on his computer. 

"Stiles," Theo said. Stiles glanced up at him, squinted, and took another bite of a candy bar. "Uhh..." Stiles scratched the back of his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Those," Theo pointed at the chocolate. "A lot of those."

"Oh!" Stiles frowned at them. "No, not really. Like - a box, max."

"Oi!" Malia called out from behind the door, banged on it. "You were supposed to break the ash!"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Give me a minute!" He called back. Turned his attention to Stiles. 

"You feeling alright?" Theo asked. 

"Man, just - seriously, I'm good," Stiles said, eyes scouring the page. "Hey, did you know- wait, yeah, you did, I told you that years ago, what am I saying."

Stiles shook his head. "Actually, I'm great. So, you can - go, now. Yeah."

Theo looked at him, dubious and wary, before nodding slowly. "Alright," He said. "If you say so."

Theo left the room. 

"Something's up." He said, quietly, just under normal human hearing level, to Malia. 

"Why didn't you let me in?" She asked, annoyed. 

Theo shrugged. Malia glowered at him, then sighed. "Whatever," Malia said. "Just - keep an eye on him, alright? I'll go make sure my dad's still locked up. He's been acting... weird."

"Weird how?" Theo asked. 

"Pretty sure he nearly hit on Stiles, which, what." She said. "So." Malia shuddered, "No thanks. I'll keep an eye on him."

Theo grimaced. "Yeah, alright." He nodded. "Go."

Malia nodded back and went downstairs.

Theo went back into the office Stiles had claimed as his. 

"You know, this place looks like the station," Stiles says. "But it isn't. Which is weird but nice, you know? Like home but not home. Not as much of a mixed negative and positive memory inducer. Place. Thing."

"When was the last time you took your Adderall?" Theo asked. 

"Oh, like, this morning," Stiles said, blasé. "I used the Xanax too but that makes me tired, so, no thanks. I used less than I should have." Stiles broke off some more chocolate. 

Well, he's being far too open. Theo frowned at him. 

"Right." He said. 

"Oh, and I could hear you, by the way," Stiles said, then looked up at him from under his eyebrows -  _glowered,_ for a moment, seriously angry, before it broke off and he shrugged, expression nicer, and he lifted his head. "But whatever man. Just. Like... take private conversations elsewhere, alright?"

Theo nodded, dubious. "Alright," He said, slowly. 

Well. That's proof Stiles has better hearing than he should, at any rate. 

Whatever's going on... Theo could use this. Or, he could not, and maybe once it's stopped, Stiles might trust him more. 

Choices, choices.

_Choices. That's what makes or breaks a person's life, and Theo likes to think he generally makes the right ones._

_(He doesn't.)_  

* * *

"Where is he?" Willow asks, frowning, and Xander shrugs. 

"Hey, Buff," He asks, and Buffy turns to him from her conversation with Cordelia. It's nice, to see his friend and his girlfriend getting along. That's more than he can say for Willow and Cordy, but he hopes that will get better with time.

Cordelia... he likes her. A lot. He didn't think he would, when this all started, but he does. And that's - something. Something he doesn't want to lose. 

"Hear anything from G-Man about not showing today due to watcher business?"

"Nope," Buffy replied. 

"Huh," Willow muttered. "It's really not like him."

"I know, right?" Buffy said. 

"What's going on?" The third new kid this term asked. He's Theo, according to Malia. He's the only one that shares their study period out of the three. 

"Giles is late, which like, never happens," Cordelia said. "You're Theo, right? Stiles' friend."

Theo smiled slightly. Xander almost thought it looked amused, but that doesn't seem right. 

"Yeah, that's me," Theo said. "First time I've been known that way."

Cordelia shrugged, uncaring. "These are people," She gestured. "My boyfriend, Xander, his friends Willow and Buffy." 

"Nice," Xander said. 

"Well, are we friends?" Cordelia asked rhetorically. "Because I don't think that's the case yet."

"We're kind of friends," Buffy protested. 

"Sure," Cordy nodded. "You then. But you," She nodded to Will. "I'm guessing no?"

"... not yet," Willow shrunk in her seat.

"Fair," Cordy said. "So yes. These are people." She turned back to Theo. 

"Cool," He said. 

"Ugh," Cordelia said, after a moment. "I can't believe this."

"It really is unlike him," Willow said, tone worried. 

"I'm bored, and he's not even here to give me credit," Cordelia sighs, then rolls her eyes and pushes her stool backwards until it gently collides with Xander's desk.

Xander pats her shoulder slightly, and they both roll their eyes in unison. 

Buffy glanced at the door as it opened, as did many others. One of the teachers, a Mrs Barton, entered. 

"Hey! We're all stuck here, okay?" She clapped her hands to get the students' attention. "So now let's just sit quietly and -" She indicates a book on the teacher's desk, then smiles - "and pretend we're reading something until we're really sure that old Commandant Snyder's gone. Then we're all outta here!" She grinned widely. 

"Uhm," Willow starts. 

"Does anyone else wanna marry Mrs Barton?" Xander asked.

"Get in line," Cordelia replied, mystified and gratified in equal measure. 

"I guess Giles isn't coming, then?" Willow asked. 

Theo frowned at the teacher and heard the blonde one say - "I guess not," With a very concerned tone.

* * *

 

"Holy fucking shit, I figured it, I figured it!" Stiles called out, grinning. 

"Well done," Peter drawled. "What was it you were doing again?"

"This," Stiles said triumphantly. Peter glanced over.

"That's a very impressive circle." He said. "I mean that. It's hard to draw a perfect circle; making one with mountain ash is likely even harder."

"You really are thirty-something," Stiles frowned at him. 

"And yet," Peter said, pointed at him with a piece of chocolate, "You seem to have a split personality, so who's the weird one here?"

"Why did I let you out," Stiles sighed, rubbed at his forehead. "Anyway!" He said, brightly, "I also figured this-" He walked over to the lamp in the corner and moved it, so that shadows were cast on the walls. 

"Figured- oh, that." Peter nodded.

Stiles had walked straight into a shadow, and come out of another one.

"Interesting." He said. "So that's the spark at work, then?"

"Void, I think, being messed with by the spark," Stiles mused, as he oriented himself. "Chocolate?" He asked.

"Sure," Peter said. "It's cheap crap, but surprisingly addictive."

"I know, right?" Stiles asked. "I feel like, _five-hundred years old_ **and** sixteen all over again. It's great."

"I feel _one_ of those," Peter said, dryly. "And there - that's the split personality thing I was talking about."

"Hey now," Stiles pointed at him. "Stop that. Me and my Shadow are perfectly healthy, thank you very much."

Peter snorted, and ate another square of the chocolate. 

Stiles stopped, for a moment, then pulled his lips into his mouth and got a glint in his eyes that could only mean  _trouble._

"I'm bored." He said. "Figuring things out is great, and all, but the research part is - well, it's actually really fun, but I'm just  _sitting there,"_ He said, with distaste. "Wanna go mess with demons?"

Peter smirked. "Sounds fun. Let's go."

* * *

"What is this place?" Peter asks, nose wrinkled.

"The Bronze," Stiles said, "I think it's a club, but it's packed with old people today. Usually it's like, my age. Physical age." He added, belatedly.

"Yeah, what's with that?" Peter asks. "The five-hundred-and-sixteen years of memories thing."

"Oh, I think I was posessed at one point," Stiles said. "Can't remember. Anyway, they're all like, my memories. There was this one back in world war two, I think, which is clearest? Aside from the sixteen years of my own life, anyway."

"World war two?" Peter asked. "Huh. I did well in history."

"Yeah yeah, you did well in everything," Stiles muttered. "Hey, I think I know them," he frowned at two girls. 

"Red-head and blondie?" Peter asked, activating his werewolf vision to search the crowd easier. 

"Dude, seriously?" Stiles asked.

"Dude, they're all piss drunk, remember?" Peter mocked. 

"Oh, right." Stiles nodded. "Gimme a sec."

And with that, the teen was gone, as if he melted into the crowd. With his werewolf vision activated, so to speak, Peter couldn't miss him - but without it, Stiles would have been practically invisible. 

"Suppose chaos does well in a club," He mused to himself. 

"Hey mate," A girl said, a pretty thirty-something. "You up for dancing?"

"Why not," He said, smoothly, and held out his arm. 

"A gentleman, eh?" She asked. "Nice." The girl muttered, took his arm and lead him to the dance floor. 

* * *

Going into Shadows was... weird. Stiles could safely say that he was the only being there, though from his memories that shouldn't be the case. Still, this world didn't feel like the one he remembered, and Stiles would know. Five-hundred-and-sixteen years is more than enough to get to know a world, even if there is a huge gap between the last of those five-hundred years and the sixteen years, but Stiles considers himself pretty well fuckin' versed, to say the least, and this isn't what he knows, and it's... strange.

Almost freeing. He's the only one here who can use this power, and since he's the only spark, there's likely nobody that could alter that fact of his existence. As there would be back in his old world. 

So. It's pretty dark in the Bronze, especially at night (which is when it's open... Stiles isn't sure why he specified that), which meant that Stiles could travel within the shadows very smoothly, which is more than can be said for other places. 

Stiles tracks the two girls - he thinks he knows them, but he's not sure from where, and if it's the five-hundred years and not the sixteen, then that's dangerous. 

Whatever possessed him wasn't exactly nice, and he didn't have any friends. Anyone that would tail a previously possessed host to a new world wasn't good news. 

The Blonde one is the first to speak.

 _"Let's do the time warp again,"_ Stiles hears. "Maybe there's a reunion in town or, or a Billy Joel tour or something." That was Red. 

' _Alright',_ he muttered to himself.  _'They sound like normal kids, so maybe the sixteen years? Or something I don't remember?'_

Now that's a thought. Maybe it's the missing years; Stiles' not-fake certificate says he's eighteen, so... that's two years. A lot can happen in two years. 

Stiles moves to a nearby column and exits it. "Dude," He says. "Chill."

The vampire turns around and glares at him. "Mind your own shit, kid."

"Oh, fuck off," Stiles snapped. "Seriously, go feed in LA. You aren't wanted here."

"Who says?" The vampire sneers. 

"I do," Stiles says, pleasantly. "Now, get the hell out of here."

"No." the vampire refuses.

Stiles sighs. "We could'a done this easy, you know?" He said. "I'm having an interesting day, and now you've ruined it."

The vampire sneered but didn't get to say anything. Stiles grabbed him and shoved him headfirst into the column's shadow, but stopped him before his body could go in. 

"This is always the unpleasant part." Stiles sighed. He placed his hands on the creature's shoulders, then  _yanked._

The body came away without the head and crumbled to dust. 

"Well, that saves on clean-up, at least." Stiles mused. "Nice."

The girl who he'd been feeding on stared at Stiles, wide-eyed. 

"Get the hell outta here," Stiles said. "Don't walk, even if you can't drive. Use your bag's contents to figure out your address."

She nodded and fled. Stiles sighed.

"She's dead." He said to himself, shaking his head. Stiles turned and walked back into the shadows.

There was a vampire on the balcony, but that was consensual. There was a vampire lady feeding down in the alley, and a vampire dude making advances down on the dancefloor. There was another vampire, panicking - Maybe an old vampire that had had some chocolate and was now young again, Stiles mused - but that didn't matter. 

_"Hey, gang!" An ageing man says to the two girls Stiles was keeping an eye on. "This place is fun city, huh?"_

_"Principal Snyder?" Buffy asked - oh, so her name was Buffy - wary and surprised._

_The Principal made a lame attempt at seeming cool, and Stiles rolled his non-physical eyes. (He's in shadows right now. You don't have eyes in shadows.)_

_"Ooh! I'm so stoked!"_

_Yeah. Red has the right idea, leaning away from that._

_Snyder goes on about some Barton woman and how he's gonna have to put her being wasted on his report since he's the principal and then wanders off._ Stiles takes this as his cue.

"Woah, Stiles!" Willow says. "Where'd you come from."

"The floor," Stiles said, easily. Because he had - the floor of the dance floor was covered in shadows, after all. 

"Oh." Buffy frowned at him. "You were dancing?"

"No," Stiles said. "Chaperoning. See him -" He pointed at Peter, who was dancing with a woman in a rather, shall we say risque manner. 

"Oh," Willow said. "That's... public."

"Mhhmm." Stiles acknowledged, not really affected by it. "Kids, am I right?" He said, dryly. 

Buffy frowned at him. "What?" She asked.

"Haven't you figured it out, yet?" Stiles asked. "It's the chocolate," He said, pointedly, removing a bar from his pocket. "It makes adults and those who have been on this earth for a... long time, shall we say, into teenagers."

"Wait, I thought you were ill," Willow accused. Stiles smiled at her. "I was." He said. "Vomiting. Better now, obviously."

Willow gained a grossed-out expression and shrugged, apologetic. 

At that moment, an old-ish man jumped onto the stage.

"Uhm." Willow stared, wide-eyed. "That's my doctor."

"Well that's not good," Buffy said. "That's - that's not good."

"Chill," Stiles said. "Nothing bad's gonna happen. It's only one night."

"You sure about that?" Willow asked, worried. 

"Well, no," Stiles mused, "But I have a feeling."

"That's helpful," Buffy said. 

Stiles shrugged, held out his hands to the side. "Hey, just saying."

"Stiles!"

"Oh,  _skurwysyn,"_ Stiles muttered. "Right. Bye!" he called out then disappeared into the crowd. Buffy blinked, having already lost him. 

"Where'd he go?" Willow asked, frowning, as she looked left and right.

"I... don't know," Buffy replied, glancing around as she did so. "Which... I think I might need to brush up on that tracking thing."

Before they could continue, Malia skid to a halt in front of them, Theo right beside her. Breathless, she asked. "Seen Stiles and Peter anywhere?"

Buffy nodded - " Mr Tate's over... there..." She frowned. "Uhm. No longer over there."

"And Stiles," Theo asked, "Seen Stiles?"

"Yeah." Willow nodded. "He was just here. Then I think - I think he swore in Polish and ran off."

"...Because he knew we were here," Malia said, clipped and annoyed. "Fuck." She sighed. 

"He can't even  _speak_ polish," Theo groaned, as he rubbed at his forehead. " _How."_

"We'll ask him when we find him," Malia said, determined. "So long as they don't do anything -" She seemed to remember Buffy and Willow were there, because she stopped talking and grimaced at them. 

"...Dangerous?" Buffy asked.

Theo's lips twisted into something that resembled a smirk. "You could say that." He said. 

"Murder." Malia let out. "My dad's a murderer and we don't need him running around high on chocolate and thinking he's invincible, okay?"

"Murderer?" Buffy demanded. " _Murderer?"_

"Yeah," She winced. "To be fair, we all hate him. Vehemently. Also, to be fair, at first the only people he killed that he was aware of killing were the people that killed his family. So."

"Oh," Willow said. "So... complicated?"

"No, he's a psycho." Malia disagreed. "He tried to kill my friend."

"...Right." Buffy said. "Why haven't you dealt with him?"

"We did. He escaped. There's really nothing we can do if even Eichen House can't hold him." Malia sighed. "So we have to babysit him, basically."

Buffy winced. "Fine." She said, then grew serious. "But we're talking about everything once this is dealt with, deal?"

"Sure," Malia said, voice tight. 

"Good." Buffy nodded. 

Oz approaches them as Malia and Theo leave. "Hey," Willow smiles, and he smiles back. "Hey yourself."

He sees the look on Buffy's face and nods to himself. "What's going on?" He asks. 

Buffy and Willow share a glance, then launch into an explanation.

* * *

"Faith?" Buffy asks. "Yeah," Faith responds, "You been getting weird vibes from the adults tonight?" Faith took a bite of her chocolate and peered out of the window of her motel room. 

"Was gonna go Patroling but it's looking like hell out there." She said. "Cars parked all over the place, I'm pretty sure I've seen a couple older people makin' moves on top of a few cars, and I think I saw Giles and your mom earlier, but..." She shook her head. "It was weird, B. Real weird."

"...I bet," Buffy sighed. "Thanks for the warning."

"No problem, Slayer." Faith said, grinning. "Want a hand? I'm bored here, with too much chocolate to spare."

"I'd be careful with that; don't let any adults get their hands on it." Buffy warned. "It makes adults act like kids."

"Nice." Faith said. "But not right now. Sure, B, I'll stash it somewhere."

"Thanks," Buffy sighed. "It's a real mess. We're gonna go to Giles', meet you there?"

"Sure that's a good idea, B?" Faith asked. "He's gonna be pretty wasted, just like the rest of 'em."

"Best we've got," Buffy said. "I mean, we've got this to deal with, apparently Malia's dad is a psycho, or was, she wasn't very clear, and Stiles is - being... odd."

"Alright," Faith nodded. "Okay, I'll meet you at the Watcher's place then."

"Thanks, Faith," Buffy sighed, "Gotta dash."

The call rang out, and Faith dropped her new (dubiously acquired) phone onto the side table. All the adults being like teens was pretty decent for her shoplifting tendencies, at the very least.

* * *

"Hey, B, Red!" Faith called out. "Oh, hey." Buffy sighed.

"What happened?" Faith asked. She'd arrived at the scene of what looked like a pretty nasty crash, luckily though nobody looked hurt.

"I'm not a good driver and the other guy was unwrapping a candy bar so he wasn't paying attention." Buffy sighed. "And my mom's gonna kill me."

"Nah." Faith said. "With any luck, she'll feel too guilty to."

Buffy shook her head but didn't say anything further. 

"So anyway... where are all the vamps?" Faith asked. "I mean, I must'a passed a tonne of defenceless victims on my way here, but nobody snacking on any of 'em."

"Soup's on, but no one's grabbing a spoon." Buffy agreed. For a moment, they all pondered this. 

Oz spoke up. "Something's happening... someplace that's else."

"I'd say something big," Buffy agreed. 

"Something to do with the candy," Willow mused. "Like Stiles said."

Buffy nodded. "So..." She led.

"We need to find the source, o'course," Faith grinned, popped a square of chocolate into her mouth. 

"Ooh!" Snyder bounced, slightly, "I know where that is," He said, puffed himself up as if to try and appear more important. 

Buffy turned to Willow and Oz. "You guys, go get Xander and Cordelia, okay? Try and figure out whatever it is that's making the candy do this." She nods to Faith, who chucks her a bar. Buffy then passed it to Willow. 

"Candy curses?" Oz asked. 

"Disturbing second childhood - got it." Willow nodded.

Buffy nodded. "Ratboy, Faith and I are going to the source."

Faith grinned, grabbed Snyder by the arm and shoved him into the jeep. "I'll drive," she said. "Since I can."

Buffy nodded. "Shotgun for me then," she said. 

Faith grinned. "Come on, B. Let's have some fun." She said, then hopped into the driver's side seat. 

* * *

"Ethan Rayne."

"Oh, so that's who's behind it," Stiles says, emerging from a shadow. "Nice. Who's that, again? Do I know him?"

Buffy jumped slightly, as did a few of the others.

"Hi," He greeted. "What've I missed?"

"What've _you_ missed?" Buffy demanded. "Ugh, nevermind - " She turned her attention to Ethan, whom Faith has in a headlock. 

"Good one," Giles grinned. 

"Ripper." Ethan greeted.

"Ethan," Giles sneered. 

"So, Ethan, what are we playing? We're pretty much in a talk-or- bleed situation. Your call." Buffy said, ignoring their back and forth. 

"Hit him," Giles said, grinning darkly. 

Buffy glares at him, for a beat, then turns back to Ethan.

"I-I'd just like to point out that this wasn't my idea," Ethan said. "Meaning..." Buffy asked, and he winced. "I'm subcontracting. It's Trick you want. I'm just helping him collect a tribute... for a demon."

"He's lying!" Giles jeered. "Hit him!"

"Listen to your watcher!" Joyce called out. "C'mon now, Buffy."

Buffy looked momentarily disturbed before shaking her head and turning her attention to Ethan. 

"I don't think he is." She said. "What demon?"

"I don't remember."

"Now  _that's_ a lie." Stiles said cheerfully. "Hold on a sec, Peter won't wanna miss this." And then he was gone, again, but back a moment later.

"That's  _awful."_ Peter sneered. "How can you stand that?"

"Eh." Stiles shrugged. "Lot's 'a time to get used to it."

Peter inclined his head. 

Buffy looked at them weirdly, before returning her attention to Ethan. She nods to Faith, who holds him ready, and Buffy gives him a solid punch to the nose. 

"Yes!" Giles cheers, and both Peter and Stiles look identically amused.

"Lurconis. Demon named Lurconis. They wanted a way to get the tribute away from people." Ethan gasps out. "They said the tribute was big, so big that people would never let them take it. That people had to be out-of-it. And later on, when the candy wore off, they'd blame themselves."

Buffy sighed. "Hence, land of the irresponsible. So - where's trick?"

"I don't know, and I mean it," Ethan rushed to reassure as Buffy held up her fist again. "But I do know he's delivering the tribute."

"Which brings us to the bonus question, and believe me when I say a wrong answer will cost you _all_  your points. What's the tribute?"

Beside them, Giles leaps up joyously with a huge smile on his face, anticipating a good fight.

"Babies," Ethan said. "Newborns, specifically."

"Well shit," Stiles said. "This is where we take our leave," He added, grabbed Peter and disappeared into a shadow. Malia and Theo appeared at that moment, in the doorway. 

"You're late," Faith shrugged. 

"Fuck," Theo sighed. "Damn it." Malia agreed. The two walked over. 

"Might as well help," Malia said. "Where are we going?"

"I need to call the library to find that out," Buffy said. "Faith, keep him in check, yeah?"

"Sure, B." Faith nodded.

Buffy turned to her mother, who handed her the phone. Buffy thanked her, and called Willow.

* * *

"Thanks," Buffy said. 

"Someone figure it out?" 

"Yeah," She nodded. "Oz. Anyway, we need to go."

She looks over to Ethan.

"We need to find something to..."

"Uhm..." Joyce reaches behind herself and detaches something from her belt, then holds it out in front of her.

"Handcuffs?" Faith grins. "Nice one."

" _Never_ tell me," Buffy says, very seriously. Faith discretely high-fived Giles in the background, who seemed amused by the action, but did it anyway. 

"Never," Buffy repeated, louder, as Joyce went over and handed the cuffs to Giles, who locked Ethan to a post. 

"We're back," Stiles greeted them, as Peter shook his head, disorientated. "Found a genuine magic shop," Stiles said, cheerfuly, "So I should be able to do something to help with the mentally youthful thing by matching it to the physically youthful thing, if magic works the way I think it does here."

"How about no," Buffy said. "And you're supposed to not be affected by these," She gestured to the chocolate, "So what's up with that?"

"Long story," Stiles said. "Like, five-hundred years long, give or take. So, like... later, man. Later."

Peter smirked at them. "One thing about shadows is that they're good for info." He said. "just follow the sounds."

"We know where they're going," Stiles said. "They've already got the kids, so like... you'll need to hurry."

Buffy shared a glance with Faith. "Lead the way," she said. "Might wanna get some waterproofs," He said. "Lurconis lives in the sewers."

"The sewers?" Joyce asked. "Yes." Stiles nodded. Joyce went to Giles for a hug.

Buffy sighed. "Giles..." She asked.

"Fine," He said. "We'll be good, yeah Joyce?"

"Yeah," She nodded. "We'll behave. Go - do the Slayer thing, Buffy."

Buffy nods and lets Stiles and Peter lead their little group where they need to be.

After they're gone, Giles knocks Ethan out. "Well?" He asked Snyder. 

"I'll... just be off." He said, and ran. 

"Filthy little ponce," Giles grumbled. "Least he's gone now," Joyce said, then grinned mischievously at him. "They're  _all_ gone."

He grinned back.

* * *

"What is that?!" Stiles called out, as he slammed a vampire head-first into a shadow, then pulled it away, dropped the body which turned to ash. 

"Lurconis, I think!" Buffy returned. 

Lurconis was a giant snake. Just great. That was exactly what they needed. 

Peter tore the heart from a vampire's chest and glanced around. "Any more for any more?" He called out, eyes blazing blue, and one stepped up to the plate. He grinned, entertained, and dove into the fight again. 

The vampire Mr Trick started talking. "Ordinarily, I like other people to do my fighting for me, but I just gotta see what you got." 

"Just tell me when it hurts." Buffy said, and they launched into battle. But Trick fought dirty, and he wasn't planning on dying that night, nor was he planning on that being their last battle. 

He distracted her, then grabbed a distracted Peter and threw him into the water, then ran off. Buffy, taken over by that saviours' instinct, started looking for a way to stop the demon. 

She spied a gas pipe in the ceiling and leapt up to grab it. It broke under her weight, and gas began to hiss out of it. Peter was out of the water by now and thus safe.

Buffy angled the gas pipe onto one of the torches, and it burst into flames. She aimed it at Lurconis, and the snake demon reared back and screamed in pain. Faith watched on, grinning.

Buffy waved the pipe around until Lurconis was engulfed in flames. She pushed the gas pipe aside as the demon retreated back into its tunnel, screaming. Above her Trick smiled down through the open manhole. 

"You and me, girl. There's hard times ahead." Buffy spun around to face him, but by the time Faith had made her way over, he was gone. 

"Damn." Faith muttered. "Next time, eh?"

"They never just leave," Buffy sighed. "Always gotta say something."

"Better get those kids back to the hospital, yeah?" Stiles said. "'Course... we're done here. Peter?"

Peter walked over, Stiles grabbed him by the arm and saluted the girls goodbye as they left.

"Shadow travel." Faith mused.

"More than we knew before," Buffy said, and Faith nodded. 

* * *

The following Monday, things are back to normal. Of course, that meant that Malia and Theo had to deal with a weekend of strange Stiles and young Peter, but that's par for the course.

(They've  _definitely_ had enough of each other. And Stiles and Peter should be kept far, far away from each other, they've decided. The roles have changed now, at least from Malia's perspective. Theo's on Stiles duty and Malia's on Peter duty, if only because Malia wants Theo as far from her biological father as is possible.)

(Also, on Monday, they get drafted into fixing things. Malia's pretty sure that rigging all the things in an office to break when you do something innocuous is Stiles' favourite prank, so she blamed him entirely for that. Except she won't say that, because he's beating himself up about it enough already, and he's on vandalism duty, not office fixing duty.)

Malia's just wary of the time when Buffy decides the four will need to explain themselves. Two years worth of horrible things have happened - even long than that, really, to be honest. How are they gonna get that across in a way that doesn't incriminate them?

Malia's not sure. Which... doesn't look good for their chances. 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know polish... sorry.
> 
> Also - yay! Fanon and void and shadows and magic. Let me have my fun, yeah?
> 
> Also I mostly fucking love this episode. I can do without the Willow/Xander and CHEATING subplot, but everything else is A*. I hope that shows??
> 
> Also like... Joyce and Giles canonically had sex on that police car. Multiple times. With handcuffs.
> 
> Let that sink in. Let it also sink in that I gave them another chance to do similarly at the factory. Hehe.


	15. Three Things That Cannot Be Kept Hidden For Long. (Pt 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun, the moon, and the truth. 
> 
> Malia had never really gotten that phrase. The truth can be hidden for eternity - because a secret can be kept... if those that know it are dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna have to explain some stuff for those that haven't watched the show real quick, as it's gonna become a pretty decent sized plot point and you need the backstory but probably don't want to have to watch two seasons of a show that's really hard to find these days, so lemme give you the run down, yeah?
> 
> Basically - Buffy dated this guy called Angel. Big news - he turned out to be all vampy n' stuff, except; there's a catch. He had a soul. Now, you see, Angel's soul had this return policy if he was every truly happy for a single moment (because the Buffyverse 'gipsies' are apparently very stupid) and so when they had The Smex, (buffy's first time was with an old vampire, which... fun...) he lost his soul! Great. He went on to murder Lots Of People, including Giles' girlfriend Jenny Calendar, who was a descendant of the gipsies that cursed him and was assigned to Sunnydale to make sure he didn't lose it.
> 
> She failed at that. Obviously. 
> 
> Anyway, long story short - Angel tried to end the world. Buffy had to kill him, and he was trapped in a hell dimension for hundreds of years. Unfortunate that he got his soul back just before she stabbed that bitch, so he was all soulful in hell and therefore 200x the awful punishment. He's been back since Beauty and the Beasts, which was the episode prior to the time my story started at. Buffy's kept him a secret the whole time from everyone. So only Buffy knows, capiche? 
> 
> Cool? Good. That's all info you'll need maybe this chapter (I haven't written it yet) or next, depending on whether we get into the plot of 3x07 Revelations in this one or the next. I'll just add a part one to the end of this one's title if we don't :D Cool? 
> 
> Let's get on with this, then! Sorry for the long AN, whoops. Context is Important.

Three things that can only be kept hidden for so long. 

The sun, the moon, and the truth.

Malia had never really gotten that phrase. The truth can be hidden for eternity - because a secret can be kept... if those that know it are dead. The sun and the moon are technically never hidden, it just depends on where you are in the world which decides whether or not you can see either of them, too, so she didn't get that part either. 

Apparently, according to Stiles, Satomi and her wolves and, apparently, Liam, use it to anchor themselves. Malia doesn't see why that would work, exactly. The idea that everything will eventually become known to everyone, no matter how hard you try to achieve the complete opposite - is not exactly...  _comforting._

Stiles was her anchor. Him, and control. Because - well. While control may be overrated, that isn't to say neither of them doesn't _like_ _it._

Malia glances around the table for the third time this minute. It's an awkward atmosphere - nobody's asked any questions, yet. Giles is cleaning his glasses, Willow is staring hard at her blank notebook, Oz is - Oz, cool and unflappable and the only person in the room with a steady heartbeat (aside from Stiles, but then - Malia couldn't hear his heart during That Mess, and she couldn't hear it before the Shadow took them into Stiles' head, so. His heartbeat isn't exactly a constant  _period._  And Theo, of course - but that's a given, really.)

Cordelia let out a sigh. "Is anybody going to talk or what?" She asked, bored and demanding. Malia couldn't be more grateful, honestly, because this was getting  _awkward._

"First of all - I got one," Cordelia offered. "The candy worked on adults, right? So why'd it work on you?"

"Well I'm an adult, aren't I?" Stiles asked, dryly. "Eighteen."

"Oh,  _bullshit,"_ Faith said, gleefully. "C'mon now, man. Xan's eighteen, so's C and a few others, but the candy didn't work on us, so what gives?"

Stiles shrugged. "Any of you ever been possessed?"

Xander raised a hand awkwardly. The corners of Stiles' mouth pulled down in consideration mixed with a dark amusement.

"Did stuff you regret, didn't you?" He asked. Rhetorically, as Stiles went on - and Malia could see, she didn't even _need_ to scent Xander's sheer relief at that. "I remember everything I did," Stiles said, shrugging. "Murder. Some stuff that probably counts as like - domestic terror, or something. Massacred an entire hospital, blew up the sheriff's station. People died. People I've known my whole life."

Beacon Hills is a relatively small town. Stiles knew every deputy, had seen the faces of all of Melissa's co-workers at least once. Before they died. Were brutally murdered, hunted down and stabbed and cut into and  _killed._

"What possessed you?" Giles asked, his glasses back on his face. He probably had a nervous habit of cleaning them to avoid eye contact or something else that sounds like something Scott would advise her to write on a psych paper. 

Stiles tilted his head the same way he'd done to her, back when they'd first met - when he'd said,  _'you might not like me if you know any more',_ and meant  _'you **won't.'**_

"I can't say," He said, wryly, and Malia felt it was time for her to say something. "He really can't," Malia said. "I - we know someone who specializes in this sort of thing. It's too fresh. Saying His name might call Her back, you know? We don't want Them back."

"I hear capital letters," Oz said, a slight frown on his face. "Capital letters are generally... _Bad._ "

Malia nodded. Giles inclined his head, then asked - "Could you write it down?"

"I will," Malia offered. "Willow?"

"Hmm?" Willow's head jerked up to look at all of them in turn. Buffy gestured to her notepad, and Willow sheepishly slid it over to Malia. 

"Thanks," Malia said, then scribbled  _'nogitsune - void kitsune; dark kitsune. Trickster spirit; fox. Feeds on chaos, strife, and pain.'_ Malia hesitated, then added - 

"... you won't find it in your books," Eventually. Because - they wouldn't.

There was no Sunnydale on the exit road from Cali. But here the town was, nineties tech and nineties clothes and nineties 'lingo' and  _nineties_ in all the ways it can be - and, well. The dates on the food they manage to get ahold of... 

They're in the nineties. This is an unavoidable fact - and that should be  _impossible._ Malia was nine in 2004. She shouldn't be eighteen in the mid-to-late nineties... but here she is.

So - they won't have the right info... which is if they even have any _at all_. Because -

Because... it's a different world, they're in. Malia hesitated to think that, at first, but it's an unavoidable fact. They drove into an alternate earth, accidentally, and if that shows the kind of luck they have, well...

Damn. 

Willow frowned at her. "We have a lot of books," She said, "And there's the forums, I can check around." AOL. Malia hadn't even thought about them since she was like, five, _maybe,_ but here they are using shitty - whatever 'internet', and Malia sorely misses the ease of Google already. 

Like - they're not that far off, sure, but still. Youtube,  _fucking youtube,_ that's not a thing for a decade, thereabouts. Christ. 

Myspace doesn't even -  _fucking myspace._

Anyway. 

"Wanna bet?" Stiles asked, a glint in his eyes. Malia - Malia likes the guy a hell of a lot, okay, but he's been... off, since the weekend. Of course, Malia can't expect him to bounce back from whatever the candy did to him that quickly - it was more than just the mental de-ageing that Giles and Buffy's mom and the rest of the adults went through - but... she's - she's _worried._

"Alright," Buffy sighed. "Let's start proper questioning, guys."

A few nods around the table and Stiles relaxed back into his seat. Theo moved over from the wall and took the chair beside Stiles (not the only one left, Malia might add) which garnered him an annoyed look but - well. Malia doesn't like the guy very much, though she might trust him a little if pushed to admit anything. The point is that Malia doesn't know right now if Stiles isn't still affected by the candy or if they hadn't found the last bar and the two (him and Peter) had some stashed away somewhere safe, or whatever, so... Malia's fine with Theo being a barrier between her boyfriend and the Scoobies is all she's saying. Saves her from having to be it - because Malia knows which side she'd help. 

At least Theo's antagonistic enough to protect the Scoobies. Maybe. Hopefully. 

"What are you?" Buffy asked, and Stiles let out a sharp laugh at that - Malia found it pretty funny, too.  _Hell,_ if only _they_   _themselves_ knew. 

"Ask the voice in my head," Stiles said, dryly - truthfully, but, yeah. Malia... gets why people might consider them a little crazy, sometimes. 

"Uhm." Willow - said, Malia figured - then glanced at the others. 

"Voice-?" Buffy shook her head. "Give me a straight answer, please." She said, flatly.

Stiles had a glint in his eye.  _Oh, for -_

"How about I interrupt," Theo said. Oh, thank fuck. "Maybe avoid things he can turn into puns." Buffy looked at him askance.

"I get it," Faith said, grinning. "It's five-by-five, B, don't worry 'bout it." She said, shrugging. Blip in her heart - but Faith's always nervous on the inside, Malia's found. Not anxiety-levels of nervous, just -

Nervous. Especially with things like that. 

(It's the nineties. Stuff was getting better, sure, but it wasn't amazing. People tend to forget that.)

Buffy nodded, short, then turned to Stiles and put on her best glower.

It was cute. Malia gave her points for effort, but they've had serial killers stare them down. For crying out loud, they _eat breakfast with one_ ; she doesn't really stand a chance.

"Look," Stiles said, "We don't know. A 'spark', whatever the hell that means, and then there's the 'void' part of the 'void kitsune' that got left behind as a 'fuck you' present, you know, instead of a thank you one."

"The void part?" Giles inquired. Stiles looked at him, unimpressed. "Shadows, dude," Stiles said. "Don't you remember?"

"I confess my memory is a tad... hazy," Giles admitted, "So not quite, no."

Stiles scoffed, then turned his attention elsewhere, seemingly rude but actually looking for exactly what he was talking about. 

Shadows.

"Oh no," Malia said, reached out and grabbed his arm. "Nope."

Stiles sighed. Malia let go. "Fine, fine." He shrugged, awkwardly. He was getting back to himself, but it was slow. The candy did one thing, and it woke up five-hundred years worth of memories from an entirely different being. That's bound to have an effect on someone's personality, and it's only been like - two days. Malia will give him a month, at the very  _least._

A being that did whatever It wanted when It was bored, apparently. Malia knew he'd always been kind of impulsive, but this was - well, kind of ridiculous. She supposed the memories amplified that trait, and honestly, there are other traits Malia figured would have been much less... frustrating for all of them to deal with, but whatever. A month, _at the least._

"Shadow travel," Stiles ticked off, "Control of mountain ash - rowan wood; not important here - occasional bouts of random degrees of extra strength when needed maybe sometimes, occasional not paranoia-induced sheer  _knowledge_ that a person is _No Good_ , you know, stuff like that," Stiles offered. "But what all that falls under, I don't know."

"Why is Rowan wood not important?" Willow asked - "I mean, it's rowan-"

"Yeah yeah," Stiles waved her off, "It's not important because I don't use it for what you'd use it for."

"Protection?" She asked, insistent. "Warding against magic?"

"Maybe protection," Stiles allowed. "But not magic, no."

"What, then?" Willow questioned further. 

"We're off topic again," Buffy announced. "Stop that." She chided everyone, then turned back to the three newcomers (to Sunnydale) with inquisitive eyes. 

"What do you wanna know?" Malia asked. 

"Your dad." She stated. "Is a murderer. You said so yourself. Are you?"

"Holy -" Stiles nearly stood, but (as he moved quicker) Theo stopped him before he did. 

"You don't get to say  _shit_ like that," Stiles said, suddenly angry. 

They'd been dealing with that all weekend. The most he got was pissy with them, which was honestly more amusing than anything else (except when he actually punched Theo enough times that Malia had had to intervene... eventually... let it be said that Theo was fully capable of giving as good as he got he just - didn't, for some reason. Actively antagonised Stiles, in fact, which was _always_ unhelpful) but this - directed anger - this was something at least Malia had worried about. 

"Why not?" Buffy demanded. "It's a fair question."

"No it fucking isn't," Stiles snapped, furious. "Sins of the father. Say, did you have an affair, huh?"

Buffy froze, jaw working angrily. "My dad never had an affair." She said, quietly. 

"But he  _was_ awful quick to move onto another lady, wasn't he? His secretary, right?"

Stiles sneered then - stopped, faltered. Dropped into his seat. 

"How about we be more careful with the questions?" Theo asked, polite as always - the two of them ever so slightly in front of Stiles, just enough to keep him back and to keep anyone else from him. 

Ugh. Malia hated playing mediator. She just didn't like Theo enough to let him do it alone. She didn't think he'd do that great a job at it - which is a complete lie, by the way - because Theo would be great at that shit. No, she just... didn't like him. Enough to try and one-up him in petty ways, like this one. 

"How about you rephrase your question, too," Malia said, pleasantly, to Buffy. "I don't like being called a murderer. Odd, sure, I guess. For a daughter of an assassin and a serial killer, according to you."

Malia stared across at Buffy, blank-faced. 

"Gotta side with 'em there, B," Faith sighed, reluctant. "Might be a bit too much like mom, but -" Faith shrugged, wryly smiling. "Enough to resent being compared to her like that."

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment. "Sorry," She said - to Faith, sure, but to Malia as well.

She'd take it. Malia doesn't want this to end badly, you see. 

"Alright." Malia nodded. "And to answer your question, no." She said, heavily. "Not according to the law."

Buffy's eyebrow quirked momentarily. 

"That's enough of that line of questioning, Buffy," Giles said, gently, and Malia blinked at him. "Some things are best left in the past," Oz offered. "What matters is who we are now."

Well, that was deep. Malia glanced at him, appreciating, and he gave the slightest nod. 

"Fine." Buffy narrowed her eyes at them, momentarily, then shrugged. 

"Wanna spar?" She asked, and Malia took it for the olive branch it hopefully was. 

"Sure," Malia said. "I'll go easy on you."

Buffy grinned - a little arrogant, Malia thought. "Oh, that won't be necessary." She said, confidently. 

Malia smirked. 

* * *

 Malia adjusted her shirt's sleeve as she waited for Buffy to get up off the floor. 

"You can stop laughing," Buffy grumbled.

Stiles was still chuckling, but his laughter had petered out for the most part.

Ugh. Malia is never using that verb again. Ever. Damn her bio father. 

"What were you expecting?" Malia asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, really. You're human, if magical in nature. I'm not."

"Not true," Stiles chimed up. "You're both human, but one of you's preternatural and the other is supernatural. There's a difference."

Malia inclined her head. He'd tried to explain that stuff, but she still didn't quite get it. 

"Tomato tomato," Buffy muttered, brushed herself off. "I just don't get it," She said. "You aren't trained."

"I'm just..." Malia shrugged. "Strong. That's enough, sometimes. Your left hook is sloppy."

Buffy blinked at her rapidly. "What?" She said, bewildered. "No, it isn't."

"Yeah, it is," Stiles said, "You telegraph it. I can see it coming a mile away."

Buffy glowered at him. 

"Lemme have a go," Faith said, dropping off of the library desk. "I figure I might do alright."

"Sure," Malia nodded. "Try me."

Faith grinned. 

* * *

"I don't know what to think about them," Buffy admitted, picking at the hem of her bedspread. 

"Whatever you wanna think 'bout them, B," Faith shrugged. "I mean - your perspective, y'know? Can't tell you how to feel 'bout things. No-one can."

Buffy glanced over at the girl perched on her windowsill. "There's a perfectly good chair over there," She pointed out, and Faith allowed the not-so-subtle topic change. 

"There's a little guy on it I don't wanna disturb," She grinned, and Buffy - 

Shrugged. She felt like she was blushing, maybe. But not much, in the grand scheme of things. The last person she'd told about her childhood toy was Angel. And, well...

That was - complicated. For a few reasons, some Buffy didn't really want to examine, much. 

Or at all. 

"Don't be embarrassed," Faith waved Buffy off, who probably blushed more, knowing her. Damn herself. "I've had him since I was little," Buffy said. "You know? Childhood toy, and all. Stuffed animal."

"Never had one o' those," Faith shrugged. "Never really had much of that sort of thing."

Right. Buffy didn't know much about Faith's life, but she knew it hadn't been anywhere near as cushy as Buffy's early life had been. Before the divorce and the mental institution and the burning down of her school gymnasium, anyway. 

"Sit," Buffy instructed, patted the bed across from herself. Faith seemed to consider it for a moment - hesitated, then shrugged. Nodded, and walked over; sat down more carefully than Buffy thinks she's ever really done anything. Maybe. 

Maybe she's imagining things. 

Wouldn't be the first time.

"You've been real quiet, since at least a week back," Faith said, and Buffy paused. Outwardly, she simply frowned at the other teen in curiosity. "What do you mean?" Buffy asked, and Faith shrugged. "I dunno, B. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a secret boy-toy on the side, y'know?" Faith grinned, jokingly. "I mean, I cover for ya with Watcher, but Giles asks a lot'ta questions 'bout where you are, y'know? And when I dunno..." Faith hesitated. Buffy figured Faith had never had many friends, outside of her old, dead watcher. 

Buffy had never been drafted by the council. Faith had, but not to the extent Kendra had. Buffy wondered what that was like - being raised to know that one day you might be called into a life that pretty much guarantees your death before thirty. Eighteen, for most.

God, she still hates the Cruciamentum. 

"I guess I wanna know, right?" Faith said, instead of something else. Buffy was almost disappointed, but she didn't know why, exactly. 

"There's nothing going on, Faith," Buffy said, easily. She'd had to lie all last summer after she'd run away - this was nothing, in comparison. It just felt a little worse. Lying to a friend. "I just wanna get away from Warden Giles and mom occasionally, you know?" She offered. 

Faith nodded, relaxed. Buffy felt a little - 

Something. Guilty, maybe. Possibly. 

"I mean, they've been better since last weekend," Buffy wrinkled her nose at what they'd been doing before she quickly moved on - "But they still monopolise my time, right?"

"Well, I mean, I'm no expert," Faith said. "At not running away from things. But... I mean, they're probably just... I dunno. Worried?" She offered, shrugging. Uncomfortable. Buffy knew Faith enough to know that her home life before her watcher took her away hadn't been... good. 

That sort of thing usually left scars, if not visible ones, then - well. 

Trust. It was something Buffy could tell Faith had issues with - issues with trust, with people caring, because it got her last person killed. 

"Yeah," Buffy nodded, sighing. "I - I know that. But I can't be boxed up all the time, you know? I'd explode."

"That wouldn't be very pretty," Faith grinned, found ease in joking about something. Buffy remembered how hard it had been to get her to open up about Kakistos - it took him nearly killing them both for her to confess what had happened and why she'd actually come to Sunnydale - so she kind of got why. It made Buffy more at ease, at least. You can tell the truth when joking, and people won't think it's the truth at all. 

"Probably not," Buffy smiled back, said laughingly, and Faith's smile turned more genuine, less humour based. 

( _Pretty,_ Buffy reflected, then immediately shoved that thought into the back of her head.)

"We should probably get going," Faith nodded to the door. "Get some vamps in before your curfew," She teased. Buffy snorted then grimaced, and Faith laughed a little. "Sure," Buffy nodded, then got up from the bed. "Might wanna get changed," Faith said, as she got up. "Something darker?"

Buffy nodded. "See you at the street corner?" 

Faith nodded, spun around and vaulted out the window. 

* * *

"Go away," Stiles grumbled, ignored the other young adult as he stared at the laptop screen.

"We should probably hide that," Theo said, as he entered the room, easily moving over the mountain ash line and frustrating Stiles to no end because of that. "Laptops like that aren't really a thing, yet, here."

"Nor is the internet, yet I can access it," Stiles said. "So."

"The internet exists here," Theo said, dryly.

"Not what I meant," Stiles rolled his eyes. "I mean like - like it doesn't work the same way it will in the future, yet I can still access google and youtube and things that don't exist yet."

"Oh," Theo nodded, frowning. "Right."

Stiles rolled his eyes again and looked up from the computer. "What do you want?" He asked, demanded, frowning dubiously over at the chimaera. 

"There's not really much for me to do," Theo said, amused-sounding. "Except talk to someone. And Malia's off somewhere, and nobody wants me talking to Peter -" "Fuck no, that's  _never_ happening," Stiles grumbled to himself -"-yeah, my point exactly - and so you're the only option."

Stiles scowled, turned his attention back to his screen.

"What are you looking at?" Theo asked.

"What's happening back in Beacon," Stiles said. "There's been a few more disappearances and a few more reappearances and a few more deaths, but Scott and the rest are fine."

Theo held back a grimace and nodded. "That's good," He said, because in part it was. There were a couple people he still wanted in his eventual pack back there, after all.

He'd just kind of hoped Scott would have been dealt with by now. A lot.

"Don't lie to me," Stiles sighed, warned, but didn't push. Theo thinks he's both resigned and still affected by the candy - so therefore still a little apathetic about the whole thing. Theo hoped that unhelpful lie detection would go away, at some point. With the rest of the candy's effects.

Stiles would normally be angry about that sort of thing. Kind of hypocritical, but understandable, at the very least. Theo's the same, in that regard. 

"I'm not," Theo said, as honestly as he could. He still mostly wanted to kill Scott himself, after all, even if that wouldn't really help his cause much. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him but shrugged and looked away. Yeah - see, that's not really like the guy Theo knows. As much as he hates being pushed, Stiles will push and push and  _push,_ because he wants to know something. The truth, preferably, but any truth would do. 

Theo has a truth he could use to distract him - but it wouldn't last for long. 

He needs to completely throw the other guy off... but the way he could do that would ruin other plans. It's one or the other, and though he wants Scott dead, he doesn't  _have_ to be the one to do it. 

He could enlist Peter for that. Without anyone knowing, of course. 

"I don't believe you," Stiles said, but that was good old-fashioned paranoia. So whatever his abilities were had been fooled, at least.

"You can do that all you want," Theo said, "But you'll like me eventually."

"No I won't," Stiles rolled his eyes, "I have made it very clear how unlikely that is."

"You will," Theo said. They'd been friends once - That might not be what Theo wants, exactly, now, but he could make it work. It would work, because Stiles is more like him now than he ever was then. 

* * *

 

 

 


	16. Three Things That Cannot Be Kept Hidden For Long. (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun, the moon, and the truth.
> 
> The truth's been coming to the surface a lot, lately. 
> 
> The repercussions of that could be... 
> 
> Bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh.... this is a long one...
> 
> Yikes.
> 
> I don't finish the episode in this chapter because it would end up way too long, so ignore the last AN until I get the last part to this chapter written and posted so as to avoid spoilers, whoops.

The ten of them are at the Bronze. Stiles can see a 'help wanted' sign for the bar, and he quietly contemplates the pros and cons of getting a job here.

Too high profile, he decides - not that Peter seems to have cared overmuch about that when he took the teaching position - and turns his attention back to the rest of the group. Oz has already returned as his band is on break now, and Willow's getting everyone to shuffle around so Oz can sit next to her. Stiles and Malia offer to stand and, even though Buffy is nowhere to be seen, as is Faith (Theo's over at the bar), it's still a tight squeeze.

"Xander - why are you giving me a lap dance?" Cordelia asks, dryly, and Stiles can't help but snort. Xander rolls his eyes. "There's not really enough space," He points out, "And so what, I like you."

"Cute," Malia says. "But now we don't have anywhere to sit."

"I'm fine with leaning on the table," Stiles says. 

"Well I'm not," Cordelia says. "So if Malia wants to sit someone's gonna have to sit on someone's lap, and I veto either me or Xander doing that."

Malia sighs. "Look, I'll just go grab some chairs - Buffy, Faith, and Theo are gonna need them when they come back anyway," She says, then presses a quick kiss to Stiles' cheek and hurries off. 

"Cute." Cordelia mimics. "Anyone want a drink?"

"Could I snag a sip?" Oz asks, and Willow nods as she hands him her soda. 

"Anyone want something more interesting than soda?" Stiles asks, then sips his beer.

"How _did_ you get that?" Xander asks.

"I've been told I look twenty-five in this lighting," Stiles says, sarcastically. "Fake ID, man."

"Oh, right." Xander nods. "Obviously."

"I'm good," Cordelia says. "Drunk isn't a good look on me."

"Coming through," Malia grunts, and drops three stools into place. "Theo's gonna bring the one from the bar. The guy there was sympathetic enough to Theo's expression."

"As are most people," Stiles says, snidely. "Anyway, thanks," He smiles, and slides onto one of the stools. 

"That was a swift change in emotion," Cordelia states. "You sure you're feeling normal?"

"Blunt as ever," Xander sighs. 

"I'm fine," Stiles says, then takes a sip of his beer. 

"Well..." Willow hesitates, then plows on, "Speaking of that sort of thing... has anyone noticed Buffy's been acting strange lately?"

"From what I can smell," Malia starts, "She seems normal if suppressing."

"Suppressing?" Xander asked.

"None of your business," Malia says, bluntly. 

"Alright, alright," Xander placates, "Just concerned."

"Well, I mean..." Willow hesitates, again, but this time more out of concern than awkwardness - "After everything that happened... and we didn't give her the warmest welcome back, and she hasn't said a word about Angel so I don't know if he got his soul back before she killed him, so I have no idea if she's feeling more horrible about it than is necessary..."

Oz placed a calming arm around her shoulders and interrupted her ramble - "She'll come to us in time." He says. 

"Well, from my point of view," Xander starts - "Let's see… killing Zombies, torching sewer monsters, freeing the enslaved populace of a parallel dimension… nope. She's pretty much the same old Buffster."

"She's just -" Willow hesitates.

"Distracted?" Stiles offers. "Off on her own a lot? Without Faith?" He added, as an afterthought. 

"Well..." Willow shrugs. 

"Think maybe she's got a new honey?" It's Cordelia's turn to offer.

"What? Why wouldn't she tell us?" Willow asks, completely bewildered.

"Well, considering this Angel guy tried to end the world and her last boyfriend dumped her before homecoming, you can probably see why she wouldn't want to tell anyone," Stiles says, and they all blink at him.

"... How did you know that?" Willow asks. "About Angel?"

"Oh, the shadows talk," Stiles says, then blinks. "Well, that didn't sound fucking crazy, like, at all."

Malia places a hand low on his arm and looks at him with concern. "I thought you said there was nothing in there?"

"There's nobody in the shadows," Stiles says, "But that doesn't mean they don't remember. A huge fucking hole isn't exactly subtle, after all."

"Hole?" Willow asks, hesitant. A little wary, maybe. 

"Where the Acathla statue was, or whatever the fuck its name is," Stiles shrugs, uncomfortable. "There's this huge hole where even the shadows don't dare go. It's... well, it's creepy as shit, but -" Stiles shrugs. "I think it's where a portal once was."

"That sort of thing leaves echoes," Oz says, wisely, and Stiles nods, grimacing. 

"What leaves echoes?" 

They all simultaneously look over in time to see Buffy arrive.

"Shadows," Stiles says. "Things that happen that aren't... good, well, the shadows tend to remember."

"Ooh. Ominous," Buffy says, cheerfully. 

"What's making you so chipper?" Xander asks, and Buffy shrugs. 

"Are you going out with someone?" Cordelia asks, and Buffy shrugs, again, expression considering. 

"Technically speaking, I am going out with someone tonight," Buffy comments, smiling. 

Faith strides up to the table. "Yo," She semi-grunts. "What's up?" she asks but doesn't give anyone time to answer. "Time to motorvate," She says to Buffy. 

Buffy puts her arm around Faith and smiles wider. "Really, we're just good friends."

"Huh," Malia says. "Cool. Anyway, where are you going?"

"Slayage." Buffy shrugs her one available shoulder. "Wanna come with?"

"Sure," Malia says. "Stiles?"

"I'll drive," He says, and the four wander off. 

* * *

"Two," Stiles says. "Approaching." 

He's perched on a gravestone (to Giles' disapproval) while Malia leans against a tree and the three observe how Faith and Buffy work together as a team.

"And we can't join in... why, exactly?" Malia had asked, and Giles had sighed. "The fact that you even know about the supernatural world is a grey area in the Council's eyes, I couldn't let you wander around attacking vampires - they'd likely fire me."

"Fine." Malia rolled her eyes. "Despite the fact that I'm a werecoyote... fine."

"No interfering," Stiles promised half-heartedly, and that was that. 

Once the two vamps arrived, the fight started proper. Halfway through, Buffy and Faith both get tackled, and they turn to fighting each vamp separately, at which they seem to have a higher amount of success.

"You telegraph!" Stiles calls out. 

"In the middle of something!" Buffy calls back, but both Faith and her do adjust their punches after that, slightly, and Stiles can admit to not seeing them quite as soon. 

Not that Malia and Stiles can't see their punches coming, of course, but it's slightly less than a mile away awareness, and that is an improvement. 

Buffy roundhouse kicks her opponent, as Faith barrages her's with a series of shots to the head - "Sloppy," Malia chided, "Even I wouldn't hit that way," - and the two draw their stakes and, well, stake the vamps simultaneously.

"Synchronized slaying," Buffy says. "New Olympic category." Faith continues.

"What do you think?" Buffy asks Giles, confident. 

Malia notices Stiles has been staring off slightly west-ward for at least a few minutes, now. She focuses, scents the air, and tenses.

"Incoming," Malia says, and her eyes flash blue. 

"Sloppy." A woman says as she appears from behind a mausoleum. 

"Suitably dramatic," Stiles comments. "Who the hell are you?" He continues.

The woman sniffs and turns her nose up at him slightly, and Malia already hates this woman for the kind of stuck-up, judgemental person she appears to be. 

"What happened to actually buttoning up your shirts?" The woman sighs, and both Stiles and Malia scowl.

"Gwendolyn Post," The woman introduces herself. " _Mrs_ Post, to you."  She glances around at all of them.

"Now.. which one of you is Faith?"

"What's it to you?" Faith demands. 

"Shouldn't you know anyway? If you're looking for her?"

'Gwendolyn' smiles civilly at Malia, and Malia doesn't need superpowers to know she disapproves of everything Malia is and stands for. 

"I was simply wondering if you would introduce yourselves... politely," Post says, and Malia supresses a growl. 

"... Lovely," Post sighs, and immediately turns her attention away from Malia and over to Faith and Buffy.

"Buffy is the blonde one, so you must be Faith," She says, smoothly, indicating Faith with a tilt of her head.

"Depends," Faith throws out. "I'm gonna need to know more than your name, first, if that's five-by-five with you," Faith says defiantly. 

"I'm your new watcher," The woman says, and Malia can see Giles pale out of the corner of her eye. 

"Yeah right," Stiles says. "Got any proof of that?"

Post raises her eyebrow at him. "Of course," She says, and takes out some paperwork. "Here." She hands it over to Giles, who takes it and looks it over.

"This... appears to be legitimate," Giles says, heavily. 

"Now that's all sorted," Post says, smiling, "Shall we move this to somewhere more apt? Your library, perhaps, Mr. Giles?"

"I think it's rather a bit late for that," Giles says, firmly. "We'll continue this in the morning, but for now, Buffy, Faith, go home."

Buffy and Faith nod. "Roger, Watcher," Faith says. "See you," Buffy mutters to Stiles and Malia and the two respond in kind.

Post purses her lips at their departure - Stiles rather thinks she's displeased with their 'cavalier' attitude, and he rather thinks that the culture shock must be getting to her already.

Hell, it's gotten to him. Nineties America is a whole 'nother beast to that of his decade, and he figures it's likely rather different from her experiences back wherever this mysterious 'Council' is located back in merry ol' England. 

"And you two," Post gestures to Malia and Stiles. "Who might you be?"

"Stiles," Stiles says, and she turns her nose up at that too, just not literally this time. 

"No last name?" She asks. "Stilinksi," He says. "You wouldn't be able to pronounce my first name," He adds.

"Undoubtedly," Post says, condescendingly, "And you?" She turns her attention to Malia. 

"Malia Elizabeth Tate," Malia says. 

"Hmm." Post says. "And, well," Post smiles, and it - there's something behind it Malia doesn't like. "As my new ward so put it, I'm going to need more than names.  _What_ are you?"

"Human," Stiles says. "And capable," Stiles says it as if he thinks she rather isn't, and Post purses her lips at him.

"I'll be the judge of that," The woman informs him primly, tone superior. 

"I got hit with a spell," Malia says. It's a good enough lie, she figures. 

"What kind?" Post asks. "How would I know?" Malia responds, rolling her eyes. "But it means I'm strong, and I can do this -" Malia shifts, holds out her claws and bares her fangs, then drops it, the differences have gone and her appearance is once again as human as it ever was in the span of just a few seconds. "So there's that."

"I might have neglected to mention some side effects of a possession," Stiles admits, freely. "And some chaos candy... but that's neither here nor there."

"Are you still possessed?" Post asks, quick, snappish, eyes narrowed and stance suddenly wary.

" _Fuck_ no, that bastard's  _gone."_ Stiles snaps right back, suddenly angry, and steps forward once, twice, before Malia reaches out and stops him. 

"Defensive," Post says, cataloging. "Quick to anger."

"And that's enough," Giles says, once again firm. "I must ask that we wait until morning for anything else, Gwendolyn."

" _Mrs_ Post," Gwendolyn says, forcefully. "Mr. Giles... I suppose I shall see you in the morning. Where, exactly, is your library?"

"The high school," Giles says. 

"I will see you there at seven o'clock sharp, then." Post nods.

"The School doesn't start-" Post is already gone before Giles can finish, and he sighs.

"I suppose she'll just have to find out only staff can enter that early and visitors have to wait until nine the hard way, then." He sighs.

Malia can tell he's amused. It's written plainly in his scent. 

* * *

 Stiles and Malia arrive at the school at the same time as Buffy and Faith do. Theo came along with them as a secondary buffer, just in case (because it's been a few days, now, but Malia is still a little wary about Stiles' time on the candy... which sounds like drugs, but it basically  _was,_ just magical drugs, not normal ones) and the five wander on into the library. Post is already there, and she's rifling through Giles' books, turning her nose up at most of the volumes he has at his disposal, obviously displeased. 

Giles is at the front desk, meticulously cleaning his glasses.

"Yo, Watcher," Faith greets.

"... and you," She adds, reluctantly, addressing Post. Post doesn't seem to hear her, engrossed in her assessment of Giles' books as she is. 

Faith flops down onto one of the chairs surrounding the desk, as Buffy slides more gracefully into the one next to her. Malia drops into another chair and Stiles wanders over to the lower shelves and leans against the banister, arms crossed. 

Faith lets out an explosive sound of frustration and turns to Post. "I'm telling you, I don't need a new watcher! No offense, lady, I just have this problem with authority figures. They end up kinda _dead._ "

"Duly noted, and fortunately, it'snot up to you," Post responds dismissively, then turns to Giles. "Mr. Giles - where do you keep the rest of your books?"

"Rest of them?" Malia mutters, and Stiles shrugs. 

"Yes, the rest of them," Post repeats, impatiently. "Well?"

"This is everything," Giles admits, frowning. 

Post looks around. "... I see," She says, wryly, a twist to her lips. 

"I assure you, Mrs. Post, that this is the finest occult reference collection -" Giles starts, fiercely, but Post interrupts him, "-This side of the Atlantic, yes, I'm sure," Her tone is incredibly condescending, and Malia bristles at this despite the fact that it's not even levelled at her. 

"Regardless - I've been sent by the council for a very important reason. Faith needs a watcher. I am to act in that capacity, and report back." She looks at each of them in turn, her gaze hard and unyielding. 

"Excuse me, Mary Poppins, but you aren't  _listening -"_

"The council wishes me to instruct you, so I shall," Post says, firmly. "And they also wish for me to, shall we say, give them a more honest report on the situation here." She continues, eyeing Giles disdainfully. "You are  _all_ under review. You," She indicates Faith, "Are my Slayer. Buffy is Giles'. There is no need for crossover - we can cover more ground if there is none, in fact." Post sighs, annoyed. "However, part of my job is also to monitor Mr. Giles' performance as a watcher, and so," She allows, reluctant, "You shall work together on weekends, as we can cover more ground during those days regardless."

"Uh..." Stiles pipes up, "It almost seems like you want them to do nothing but Slaying." He points out. 

"Well, of course," Post says as if it were obvious. "That is a Slayer's calling. If they are not Slaying, they are wasting their time."

"That's fucking bullshit," Faith says. "We have other stuff to do, you know. Like being actual people, with lives and shit."

"Faith," Post snaps. "As your watcher, I rather think you should address me with more respect."

"Lady, I'll address you with respect once you've earned it." Faith snaps right back, defiant. 

"Faith," Giles says, firmly, and Faith sighs, explosive, but she sits back down in her chair and doesn't say anything else. 

"At least you listen," Post says, after a beat. "There is hope for you yet."

Buffy grabs Faith's arm and holds her in place with a vice-like grip so the girl doesn't say something that could get her in any form of trouble. 

"Now," Post says, "There is some intel from the council for your next assignment," She states, "A demon named Lagos." Post glances around. "You," She indicates Stiles, "Sit and pay attention."

Stiles raises an eyebrow at her and does not bother following orders. Theo, who was standing near him, sighs and drags him over to the chairs and gestures for him to sit down, on Malia's right. 

"Thank you," Post says. "Now - sit up and  _pay attention,_ she snaps to them, but Malia doesn't bother, Buffy simply gives Post a  _look,_ and apparently emboldened by this, Faith simply inspects her nails."

Post's hand clenches into a fist momentarily, and Malia sits up straight at the genuine anger she'd scented.

"Holy shit," Stiles muttered, then glanced at the woman. 

"What was that?" Post asked. "Nothing," Stiles said. "You feeling okay?"

"I am perfectly fine, thank you," Post says. "Now, if you'll pay attention, Lagos is a demon who is after the Glove of Myhnegon. No record of this artifact's full power exists today, and it is unlikely one will be discovered any time soon. Despite this, we do know that it is  _highly_ dangerous, and so, therefore, Lagos must not get its hands on the Glove."

"What do you propose?" Giles asked. 

"If it's not too radical a suggestion," She says, witheringly, "I say that we kill him."

"Well... duh," Buffy says. 

"Not 'duh'," Post snaps. "Some demons may be reasoned with, or better suited to us alive."

"Demons?" Stiles asked incredulously amused. "Reasoned with?"

"There is an underground of well-behaved demons right here in Sunnydale if you hadn't noticed." Post informs them. 

"I know about Wily's," Buffy says. 

"I've met a couple of them," Faith admits. "They frequent the motel area."

"You are... staying in a motel?" Post asked, and Buffy shook her head. "No, no - she's in our guest bedroom."

"Good." Post nodded. "A motel is too dangerous; you don't own the building. Any vampire could just wander in and kill or turn you in your sleep."

"I know," Faith says. "I just tend to patrol there, Christ, lady."

that was, of course, a lie. But Stiles wasn't about to call her out on it, because why would he, exactly? 

"Well, considering how many of us there are," Malia says, "I don't think it's going to be too hard."

"You 'don't think'," Post says, once again withering in tone. "Also - absolutely not. I am here to monitor the status of one watcher and two slayers,  _not_ to make sure those who shouldn't even know about the supernatural don't get themselves killed."

"Watch it," Faith said, and Malia and Theo had to force Stiles back down into his seat. 

"Calm  _down,_ " Theo hissed, and Stiles seemed to try his best - he gripped onto the armrests of the chair so hard his knuckles went white and Malia could distinctly hear the cracking of wood.

"Fuck this shit," Stiles snapped, stood, and stormed off into the stacks. 

"Better than him punching her," Theo sighs, and Malia can't help but agree.

"Explosive anger," Post catalogs. 

"Stop that," It's Malia's turn to snap. 

"I cannot, I'm afraid," Post says. "Possession victims need to be monitored, in case of the side effects leading to, well, homicidal tendencies. Anger is not a good sign," She adds, almost as an afterthought.

"What about me?" Malia asks, suddenly wary. "... It is to be seen if the animalistic side to the spells cast on you will take over," Post says. "At that point, there is really only one option. To put you down."

"That's not going to happen," Malia says, firmly. 

"You growled at me." Post points out. "Last night."

"And?" Malia asks.

"Humans don't growl," Post says, witheringly.

"I beg to differ," Faith says. "Either that or you've had some really shit sex."

"Faith!" Giles admonishes, as Post purses her lips at the teen. "... Fair," She allows, "If far too crass."

"Kinky," Faith mutters, and Post pretends to not have heard her. 

"Well," Giles blusters, "Someone should go after him," He says.

"I will," Theo says. 

Malia sighs at him getting there first, as Post nods her assent and Theo wanders on after the wayward Stilinski. 

"You are his girlfriend, correct?" Post asks her.

"Yeah," Malia says, nonplussed. "What's it to you?"

"As a concerned party," Post says, "I ask you to be honest. I can help him if I know what happened."

"Well?" Malia prompts, and Post glances over in the direction Stiles went. 

"If something happens, I'd like for you to tell me." Post requests. "All of you."

"It's not only a matter of time, woman," Faith grumbled. "He's been fine the whole time I've known him, alright Poppins?"

Malia looks to the teen gratefully, who inclines her head in place of 'you're welcome'.

" _Mrs. Post,"_ Post reinforces, then nods, acquiescing. "But if something does come up, you must tell me."

Malia shrugs, Buffy doesn't respond, and Faith inclines her head - not exactly an agreement, but Post seems to understand that's the best she'll get. 

* * *

"What the hell was that about, Stiles?" Theo demands once he finds him, then - hesitates, for a split second.

Stiles is sat, leaning against a shelf with his wrists resting loosely on his raised knees. 

"I haven't a fucking clue," Stiles admits, and Theo thinks that it's for the best he came here instead of Malia, because if Stiles wasn't feeling okay and Malia asked, he'd put on a brave face because he doesn't want to disappoint her, but with Theo, he just doesn't care enough.

Either that or their shared history makes it easier. The fact that Theo knows exactly how it went down with Donovan, the fact that Stiles watched Theo rip out Josh's throat to save Stiles' life and never once said anything. Not even when he figured out Theo told Scott about Donovan. 

"What do you want, Theo?" Stiles asks.

Theo sits down across from him and mirrors the other young adult's position. 

Theo doesn't want to be cliche, but really, they aren't that different. At least these days. Young Stiles would never have killed his sister had he had one.

(But if he was told he could help his mother? Cure her? Sick, dying, mean, abusive Claudia Stilinski? 

Theo rather thinks she'd have convinced Stiles he was enough of a murderer anyway. And maybe, Stiles would want his mom back enough to do something drastic.)

"That's a tough question," Theo says. "What does anyone want?"

Theo wants a place in a pack. This pack. He wants Scott's place, specifically. He knows he's not like Scott enough to garner loyalty the same way he does, but Theo knows himself enough to know the ways he can get it.

Stiles just looks at him, doesn't respond. He does that, sometimes, when he thinks Theo isn't looking.

Theo does the same. Both of them pretend not to notice. 

"... I guess it doesn't matter." Stiles says, heavily. 

Stiles knows about Tara. He knows about Josh. He never said anything about either of them.

Theo is content for them to sit in silence, for as long as it takes. This is not the first and nor is it the last time they'll do this - that they'll talk and Theo will ask something and Stiles will misdirect, and then silence will fall and eventually, after a few painfully quiet moments, Stiles will talk.

Truthfully. And honestly. 

(It is possible, however difficult, to do one or the other. To tell the truth but to lie. To tell a falsehood, but mean it.)

"It's... difficult," Stiles says. "I've got all these thoughts from five hundred very violent years running around in my head, and it's hard not to... I guess, act like that's the here and now."

"Violent?" Theo prompts.

Stiles licks his lips and looks away, then after a beat says, "The nogitsune likes battlefields. Warzones. Places where pain and strife and chaos are easy to find."

Theo nodded. Stiles glanced back at him, then looked away, up towards the bookshelf behind him, over to the side.

Avoiding. 

"I don't know why I tell you things," Stiles admits. "I mean, I hate you."

Theo laughs slightly. "You don't hate me," He says, "But you don't trust me, and you don't like me, so that means you don't care what I think."

"I guess not," Stiles says. "But I definitely do hate you."

Theo shakes his head but lets the matter drop. He's not gonna win that battle anytime soon, no matter how many times he saves the other's life, not as long as Theo wants Scott gone and six feet under. 

Not as long as Stiles tries to suppress some of the other things the Nogitsune left behind.

"So there's that guy in your head," Theo says, after a minutes pause. 

"Yeah?" Stiles asks, wary. 

"What's he done, lately?" Theo asks. "Aside from jump at you?"

"Nothing," Stiles says. "Malia hasn't heard him in a while."

Theo hums in acknowledgment, and they sit in silence for a little while once more. 

"I think he wants something else. Something more than just to give me a couple powers and be done with it." Stiles admits. "But I... have no idea how to - confront him, I guess."

"I could help." Theo offers.

Stiles looks at him askance, then shrugs and looks away. 

Theo offers his hand and Stiles blinks at it. 

"I'm not holding your hand," He says, dryly, and then - out of nowhere - punches Theo in the face. 

* * *

Theo wakes up with a vaguely sore nose and a start.

"Welcome to the mindscape." Theo hears a voice say, dry in tone and Stiles-like, but not quite.

"Where is he?" Theo asks.

"Eh," The not-Stiles shrugs. "Around here somewhere. The place has gotten bigger since he was last here."

Theo sits up, from his position lying down on the nemeton, and stares around at the endless white expanse. 

"The ceiling's higher," The not-Stiles comments, and Theo looks at him, properly. Assessing. 

"The nemeton," Theo starts, "What is it doing here?"

"Stiles died," The not-stiles says, blase. "Sacrificed himself to the nemeton. He was the connected mind, the one the good vet used for the shared subconscious. They were looking for this thing, and truthfully, he was the reason the other two stumbled across it that night. Not that either of the three ever actually saw it, but they passed by close enough for the nemeton to see them."

"It's a tree," Theo says. "How can it see?"

"Don't even bother he's a cryptic ass worse than Deaton," Stiles grumbles, as he marches up to them. "You," He demands, accusing, "What the hell did you do last time I was here?"

"You brought a guest," The not-stiles says, ignoring Stiles' question, and the resemblance is uncanny for the fact that it manages to be so different despite how similar they are in appearance. 

"Look, Jungian Shadow, or Void, or whatever-the-fuck," Stiles says, "I just want rid of you."

"That's all you want?" The not-Stiles asks. "That's not as easy as it sounds - at least for most people. Lucky us, we have a fast track option."

"Right. And what is that, exactly?"

"You accept that I'm you, in all the ways that matter." The Shadow says, shrugging. "All the bad parts shoved into one unhealthy, unbalanced being."

"I'm not exactly all the good parts," Stiles says, wryly, "So how is that possible?"

"Oh, I'm glad you asked," The other says, easily, "I'm the parts you don't want, and don't want to acknowledge, even actively deny. There have been times that I was very, very close to the surface - but not quite. Because you lied to yourself just enough that I was shoved back down again."

"Like when?" Stiles snapped, and this is fascinating to watch - and Theo isn't joking about that. 

Human psychology meets the supernatural. The doctors would have a field day, which is exactly why Theo will tell them jack  _shit_ about this.

"Full moon, Malia, the basement of the Lakehouse, remember?" The Void offers and Theo is intrigued but Stiles snaps an affirmative response and they move on. 

"... you won't like to hear this," The shadow says, "But Donovan's death was a time I was just - this close to the surface," The shadow gestures, obviously frustrated. "We'd be much, much healthier if I was there, but nope."

"How would I be healthier?" Stiles demands. "You've said it yourself, you're the worst parts of me."

"If they're accessible on the surface, they can be dealt with," The shadow rolls his eyes. "If they're in here, with me, they'll always be there. Lurking below the surface. The reason why you feel guilty for not feeling guilty in certain situations like - " 

" _Shut the fuck up,"_ Stiles demands, steps forward, and Theo stands up, walks over and pulls him back.

Theo lets go quickly and steps back, but Stiles just stands there, teeth grinding together, silence too loud in the empty, desolate white space they're currently occupying. 

"I hate to do this again," The shadow says, and suddenly Theo can't move, and the shadow is striding towards them and - for lack of a better word, merges into Stiles, who is thrown back onto the nemeton and Theo knows no more.

* * *

"Well, this is weird," Theo hears. "Get the hell up."

"Ow," Stiles says. "Fuck. Ow."

"What happened?" Malia sighs.

"Shadow," Stiles says, and Theo realizes he couldn't move because Stiles had literally fallen on top of him.

"Off," Theo demanded, but Stiles had already started moving by that point. Theo sat up and snapped his nose back into place.

"Did you really need to break it?" Theo sighed.

"Not really," Stiles shrugged. "Easiest place to hit, though."

"Fine," Theo responded, flatly. "Feel any different."

"Aside from vaguely horrified, no, not really," Stiles says, lightly. He's lying, of course, but Post is just around the corner, so they can't say anything incriminating.

Their locale is suddenly way too high profile. Theo thinks they should probably move onto the next town - or universe - but he knows the other two want to finish their education here.

They can last a couple months. Hopefully. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this before writing the chapter lol but ughhhh I hate hate hate this episode mainly for my feels being hit harder than a truck slamming into a brick wall, okay, my poor, poor Faith, if you wanna have a gander at the actual episode here's the script I used for reference:
> 
> http://www.buffyworld.com/buffy/scripts/041_scri.html
> 
> Now onto writing this chapter!!! I can cry later lol (Not actually gonna cry but WOW this reminds me of the sadness this season had, like, yikes)


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